


Hands of Clay

by Mhalachai



Series: Hands of Clay [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Kid Fic, M/M, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 341,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes leads a busy life as a single working father in New York. But when his childhood best friend Steve Rogers falls back into his life, James will have to re-learn what love, friendship and and family are really all about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A-Tisket, A-Tasket

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [this fanart](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/93355833339/bannannibal-domestic-aus-are-good-but-domestic) by tumblrer [bannannibal](http://bannannibal.tumblr.com). I saw the comic and this story sprouted into my head over the last few weeks; my first big AU.
> 
> Added bonus to this wonderful domestic AU story: giving Natasha and Clint childhoods that don’t _suck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: listen to [A-Tisket, A-Tasket by Ella Fitzgerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbztUizvDjw).

* * *

James Buchanan Barnes was woken from a deep sleep by the sensation of a metal finger poking up his nose.

As James jerked awake, a small voice came out of the darkness. "Daddy, get up. There's no more tiny milk."

Letting out a groan, James reached for the bedside lamp. The illumination revealed a tiny redheaded child glaring at him. "Daddy, wake up!" she said again, slapping his ribs with the old prosthetic arm. "We gotta go to the store and get tiny milk so I can have milk and you don't have to wake up!"

James looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past five. "Natasha," he groaned, letting his head fall back to his pillow. "Why are you even _up_?"

"It's Saturday," Natasha said, as if this should have been obvious. She climbed onto the bed, kneeing James in the stomach as she crawled into the empty space beside him. "C'mon!"

James closed his eyes for one last moment of rest, before he felt Natasha's tiny finger wiggle into his ear.

With a sigh, James flipped his covers off and onto the girl. He could hear giggling under the blankets as Natasha tried to squirm free. Moving the metal prosthesis to the bedside table, James sat up. Across the room, he could see his new metal arm in its stand on the dresser, ready for the day. Natasha must have gone into his closet to get the old arm while he slept, for the sole purpose of sticking its finger up his nose.

Kids were _weird_.

"Daddy!" Natasha exclaimed, emerging from the blankets. "Let's go!"

"The stores aren't open yet, pumpkin," James said, scratching the stubble on his chin. "It's too early."

"All of the stores?" Natasha demanded, slipping off the bed with a thud. She still wore her blue and yellow pineapple pyjamas, her long hair a tangled halo around her head. "Everywhere?"

"Everywhere," James said. He'd decided, once little Natasha began talking, that as the only grown-up in the household he was allowed to use the occasional falsehood to preserve his sanity. "We're going grocery shopping this afternoon anyway."

Natasha eyed him with as much suspicion as a five-year-old could muster. "And we'll buy tiny milk?"

"We will buy your milk cartons," James promised. With another yawn, he stood up. "But in the meantime, how about I get you some milk from the big jug?"

Natasha considered this, then dashed out of the room without a word. James could hear her pounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

James rubbed his hand over his face, wondering if he should put on his prosthetic arm for the day. The prosthesis, a replacement for the left arm he'd lost in a military operation six years before, did make lifting things easier, but the strain of the harness on his body wasn't worth the pain when they were around the house. He'd have to wear the blasted thing when they went out shopping that afternoon anyway; best save it for later.

By the time James made it to the kitchen, Natasha had turned on every light she could reach and was sitting on the counter, holding her Dora the Explorer cup. "You took a long time, Daddy," she informed him as she held up the cup. "I almost got milk myself!"

"We talked about that," James reminded her. He opened the fridge and reached in for the plastic jug. "You're not big enough to lift it yet."

"I could be," Natasha said. She kicked her bare feet against the cupboard door. "I'm _so big_."

James couldn't help smiling at her earnestness. Natasha had always been a small child, but what she lacked in height she made up for with sheer determination and pluck. "You're getting bigger, but you're not big enough yet. Soon."

Natasha pouted dramatically as James went through the laborious process of getting his daughter a glass of milk one-handed. With the milk jug on the counter, James twisted the lid off, set it to the side, then picked up the jug and poured the liquid into Natasha's favorite cup. Then he capped the milk jug once again.

"Do you want to sit at the table?" he asked. Natasha nodded, holding her arms up. James bent down so Natasha could wrap her arms around his neck. Once her hold was secure, he scooped her up and carried her to the kitchen table. Kissing the top of Natasha's head, he set her into her favorite chair, then retraced his steps to carry over her cup.

While Natasha chugged her milk, James poured the dregs of the previous day's coffee into a mug, decided it would taste worse if he microwaved it, and joined Natasha at the table. The kitchen was large; the house itself too big for just the two of them. But anything would have been better than the sparse studio apartment where he'd been living prior to bringing Natasha home. So he might have been a little hasty in putting an offer in on the brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn Heights, sight unseen.

Although the expression on Nick Fury's face, when he stopped by for an official visit after James brought Natasha home from the hospital, had been worth every penny.

Natasha finished her milk with a gasp. "Daddy, I had a dream last night," she announced as she put her empty cup on the table.

"You did?" James asked, reaching over to wipe the milk moustache off her upper lip. "Tell me about it."

And so, at half past five on a Saturday morning in Brooklyn, James Barnes sat listening to his adopted daughter Natasha tell him all about her dream of ballerina kitty-cats and the big bad polar bear, and everything was perfect.

* * *

The morning passed in relative peace. In the Barnes household, Saturday was chores day, and James and Natasha made a game out of the weekly tasks. That morning, Natasha wandered around the living room with a duster in her hand, 'helping' James as he vacuumed. He'd had six long years to figure out how to clean house one-handed, and if he only vacuumed under the couch once every six months that was no one's business but his own.

In the early days, he'd strapped Natasha into a baby carrier and hauled her with him as he cleaned. At first he'd been afraid to let her out of his sight in case she stopped breathing, and then as she got older, he'd talked to her the whole time, mostly as a way to keep himself from getting too frustrated at the difficulty of maneuvering with only one arm.

By the time Natasha grew too big for the carrier, James had figured out enough work-arounds to keep things clean while chasing after an active toddler who delighted in escaping him at every turn.

Now, at five years and three months, Natasha was old enough to enjoy playing house and young enough to not realize how much work she was doing.

That day, Natasha only knocked over one stack of books while 'dusting', then insisted on wiping down every door handle in the house. After that, James sent her in to tidy her room while he took a quick shower. His hair was getting ragged and his stubble long enough to make him appear marginally disreputable, but his job as private security consultant had made getting to a barber during the weekdays difficult. At least Natasha's overpriced private school had all-day kindergarten to keep the girl occupied while James worked.

It was just the two of them, and had been since James brought Natasha home from the hospital. Before that, it had just been James for a very long time indeed.

As James buttoned up his jeans, he heard Natasha tapping at his closed bedroom door. "Daddy, can we go shopping _now_?" she called.

James opened the door. Natasha had dressed herself in her black dance leotard and her favorite red tutu, and was brandishing the nerf dart gun he'd picked up from a yard sale the previous summer. "We need to brush your hair first, honey."

"Why?"

James picked Natasha up around the middle like a sack of potatoes. "Because your hair is a mess," he said as he dropped her onto the bed. "Birds are going to nest in your hair."

"No they won't!" Natasha exclaimed. "If I gotta brush my hair, you gotta brush your hair." She took aim with the nerf gun and shot at the wall.

"You drive a hard bargain." James went over to the dresser where his arm lay waiting. The state-of-the-art prosthesis, a development prototype from Stark Industries' medical robotics branch, was both a blessing and a curse. With the tiny implants in the stump of his left arm, the prosthesis could hold things, move things, even let him carry Natasha's weight on his left side.

The downside was that in order to do those things, James had to strap the damned thing to his body, and after a few hours, the cut of the harness straps moved from irritation to pain.

"Will you brush my hair?" Natasha asked, pulling James out of his musing.

"If you go get your brush, I will."

"Okay!" Natasha jumped to the floor and ran out of the room, still brandishing her nerf gun.

Giving his head a shake, James reached for the metal arm. Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to solve anyone's problems, least of all his.

* * *

They left the house after lunch. Natasha had eaten a quarter of a cheese sandwich and exactly seven green beans, and was singing at the top of her lungs as James strapped her into the booster seat in the jeep. She'd refused to put on her jacket, but the early May afternoon was warm enough that James let it go; he always carried her emergency inhaler with him and she didn't need anything else.

He only had to pull over once on the drive to the grocery store, to confiscate the nerf gun after Natasha shot him in the back of the head. As a result, Natasha was still angry at him as they pulled into the parking lot.

"You're the meanest daddy ever!" she shouted, stamping her foot as James slammed the jeep door. "Ever!"

James handed Natasha the nerf gun, having removed all the darts but one from the barrel. "I bet you I'm not." He would not be baited into a shouting match with a five-year-old in the Trader Joes' parking lot.

"Yes you are!" Natasha said, her lower lip trembling. On reflection, perhaps James should have insisted on that after-lunch nap. Oh well. It was too late now. He'd best hurry the shopping along and hope to escape before his daughter melted down into a full-scale tantrum.

Natasha pouted all the way into the store, kicking at James as he tried to stuff her into the shopping cart seat. After a sharp jab to the sternum, James put Natasha into the cart instead and set off.

Because it was Saturday afternoon, everyone else in Brooklyn was out shopping as well. James dodged distracted shoppers as he maneuvered the cart around to pick up the essentials for a normal week. Natasha's school fed her lunches, so he didn't have to worry about that.

Natasha sat in the metal cart, making ' _pew pew'_ noises as she aimed the nerf gun at passers-by. In the condiments aisle, James distracted Natasha by asking her opinion on ketchup, then quickly darted past the cereal aisle while Natasha recited the letters on the ketchup label.

He usually tried to avoid bribery with the girl, but subterfuge was not out of reach when it came to keeping Natasha away from that much sugar.

The shopping trip was coming to a close when Natasha finally snapped. James was putting two loaves of bread into the cart when Natasha looked up at him, lower lip trembling, and burst into tears.

With a sigh, James picked Natasha up and rested her on his right hip, letting her wail into his ear about it not being fair that she, Natasha, had to eat stupid healthy bread for breakfast when everyone else at school (and perhaps the world) got to eat delicious white bread.

James pushed the cart with his metal arm, holding Natasha as she wept at the unfairness of the universe. Trying to ignore the judging looks sent his way by strangers, James agreed with Natasha that yes, white bread was tasty, but brown bread was better for her, and he ate brown bread when he was a kid and he grew up big and strong and didn't she want to be big and strong?

This line of reasoning helped the tears taper off as they neared the check-out counter, enough for Natasha to acquiesce to letting James put her down to pay for the groceries. James handed Natasha her nerf gun to keep her occupied as he handed over enough cash to cover the bill.

Even so, Natasha was cranky when James put the shopping cart back with its fellows. She let James pick her up to carry her across the parking lot, but she was fidgeting and pointing her nerf gun at everything. With the groceries gripped in one arm and Natasha trying to climb onto his shoulders, James nearly dropped the girl as she brandished the nerf gun at something behind his back.

"Pew pew!" Natasha exclaimed.

"Nat, you know what happened last time," James said, trying to keep hold of Natasha as she stood on his shoulder. "Don't hurt anyone, got it?" He wrapped his metal hand around her foot. "Fury's still angry—"

The nerf gun went off with a pop. The next instant, James heard someone yell, "We're under attack!" and he was back in Iraq, bleeding all along his left side from the IED as screaming erupted all around him—

With a jerk, James pulled himself back to the present. This was Brooklyn, not Iraq, and the voice shouting had been very young indeed _and he needed to keep it the fuck together_.

Blinking, James looked around for the source of the shout. A young boy, maybe Natasha's age, was standing ten feet away, aiming a bow and suction-cup arrow at James and Natasha. Behind the boy, a tall blond man was prying a nerf dart off his forehead, reaching for the boy at the same time.

Natasha clutched at James' hair, her shoe digging into his throat. In the confusion, something had to give, and that something was the groceries, falling to the ground.

"Natasha, stop it," James said in his Sergeant Barnes voice. The girl stopped squirming as James set her on the ground. Her eyes were wide with alarm. "This is Situation India."

Natasha clutched at James' pant leg, still and silent. They had a code between them for Very Grown-Up Things, and _India_ mean _Important._ It meant _freeze and_ _listen_.

Natasha's stillness gave James the freedom to figure the situation out. The little boy was not a threat (how accurate could a dime-store bow be in the hands of a six-year-old?) but the big blond man had the look of a gym rat about him, and James knew all too well how 'roided-up muscle heads could fly off the handle at any provocation—

"Bucky?"

James went still, his right hand reaching down automatically to touch Natasha's shoulder in reassurance. He hadn't heard that nickname in decades, not since long before he'd left home, not since the last day he'd seen…

"Steve?"

The blond man grinned, big and wide, and holy shit, it was _Steve Rogers_ , James' best friend in the whole world when they were kids. "This is impossible!" Steve was saying, his voice full of delight. "How've you been?"

James made to take a step forward, only to have Natasha clutch at his pant leg. He picked Natasha up, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he shifted her to his right side. "I've been good," he said, unable to take his eyes off Steve. Steve had grown _up_ , taller than James now, with wide shoulders and a square jaw and a breathtaking grin.

"Good," Steve said, still smiling. He picked up the little boy and carried him over to where James and Natasha stood. "Man, Bucky, it's good to see you again."

"Who's Bucky?" Natasha demanded.

Right. James could drool over this miracle of Steve Rogers another day. "Bucky was my nickname when I was just a little kid," he said to Natasha.

Natasha frowned at this. "You're not Bucky, you're Daddy."

In spite of everything that had occurred in the last two minutes, James found himself grinning at Natasha's petulant statement. "I sure am." He glanced back at Steve. "Steve, this is Natasha."

"Hi, Natasha," Steve said, turning his wide smile on the girl. She buried her face in James' neck. "This is my son, Clint. Clint, this is my good friend Bucky Barnes."

Clint pushed up his child-sized sunglasses to squint at James and Natasha. He was a cute kid, with a button nose and blond hair. "You shot my dad," he said accusingly.

Natasha turned her head. "I didn't _mean_ to," she said. "It was an accident."

Privately, James doubted that, but that was something he could handle when they were home. "What are you doing here?" he asked Steve, letting Natasha slither to the ground.

"We were on our way home from the city," Steve said, setting Clint down and moving to help James gather up his groceries. "Clint and I spent the morning at the museum."

"We saw dinosaurs," Clint told Natasha.

Natasha considered this. "Were they real dinosaurs?"

"They used to be." Clint lifted his arms above his head. "They were _so big_!"

James smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, turning to Steve to make a comment. Only Steve wasn't paying attention to the children; but was staring at James' metal hand.

All the joy at seeing Steve Rogers again was knocked out of James' head, with that one blank look on Steve's face. "Come on," James said to Natasha, standing abruptly with the groceries in his arms. He hadn't seen Steve in nearly twenty years and he didn't owe the man anything. "We need to get home."

"Wait," Steve said, bouncing to his feet. James bet that the man's perfect body didn't ache with memories of bomb shrapnel every time it rained. "Bucky, wait."

The harness from his metal arm was digging painfully into his side, from where he'd hauled a struggling Natasha earlier. "What?"

Steve's expression was one of distress, one James remembered from so long ago. "Just—it's good to see you again. Maybe we could, you know, get together?"

James bit his lip. He didn't really want to hang out with someone who had looked at him like that, like he was broken, like he was something to be pitied. But this was Steve, and James had missed Steve like… well, like a missing limb after Steve was adopted and taken away.

He swallowed hard. "You could come over to our place, some day."

Steve brightened immediately. Had he always worn his emotions on his sleeve when James wasn't looking? "How about tomorrow?"

James glanced down at Natasha, where the girl was back to clutching his pant leg. "We go to the park on Sundays around two," James said slowly. "How about you come over for lunch before that?"

"That sounds good," Steve said. "What do you think, Clint?"

As Clint turned his head to look at Steve, James spotted a hearing aid in the boy's right ear. "Are there swings?"

"There sure are," James said, careful to not change his pronunciation or tone. He'd hated how people treated him after he'd lost his arm, and could only imagine what a boy of Clint's age must go through with a hearing aid. "Do you like swings?"

"Uh huh," Clint said, nodding enthusiastically.

"I like swings too," Natasha said, her tiny fingers digging into James' leg through his jeans.

"I'll text you the address," James told Steve, recognizing the plaintive note in Natasha's voice as the harbinger of another meltdown. "Give me your number?"

Before Steve could speak, Clint quickly (and loudly) rattled off the digits.

"Thanks, Clint," James said seriously, and the boy beamed. "So yeah, Steve. Tomorrow."

Steve's mouth curled up into a slow smile, sending butterflies fluttering through James' stomach. "I look forward to it."

In a bit of a daze, James guided Natasha through the parking lot to the jeep. He managed to deposit the groceries into the jeep's backseat and was buckling a still-sulking Natasha into her booster seat when a sudden thought punctured his good mood.

Clint's mother.

Of course Clint had a mother, James chided himself. He hadn't seen a wedding band on Steve's hands (and he had been checking out those hands, fingers long and strong, like an artist or a sculptor) but what did that mean?

"Damn it."

Natasha turned her face in his direction, curiosity written on her features.

"Don't say that," he said quickly, tugging on Natasha's seatbelt to make sure it was secure. "That's a bad word."

"Then why'd you say it?" Natasha asked, cradling her empty nerf gun like a doll.

Because I'm a fool, James thought. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I forgot to tell Steve something."

Quickly, before he lost his nerve, James typed _hey steve its james i forgot 2 ask if clints mom will b comng over 4 lunch_

He hesitated, thumb hovering over his name. He wondered if he should change _James_ to _Bucky_. Would Steve even know who James was?

He was dithering. Hitting send, James gave Natasha's nose a bop and closed the jeep door.

He was pretty sure he heard Natasha saying "Damn it" over and over again on the drive home.


	2. Salt Peanuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Salt Peanuts by Dizzy Gillespie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gg1Wl-NmzWg)

* * *

Natasha was down for a much-delayed nap, giving James the time to put away the groceries, when his phone pinged with a text.

_Nah Clint's mom is in England plus we're not together so no. subtle btw. What about Natasha's mother?_

James read the text three times, then set the phone back on the counter without responding. He wasn't sure what to say to Steve. Yeah, they had been best friends as kids, but decades lay between them now; twenty years and a few lifetimes.

James finished putting the milk in the fridge, lining up Natasha's favorite single-serving milk cartons along the bottom shelf so the girl could reach them without pestering her old man. Soon enough, she would be big enough to pour from the big milk jug and wouldn't need him any more.

Closing the fridge door, James went back to his phone. The harness strap for his prosthesis was digging into his ribs, but he was nearly done. Soon, he could take off the metal arm for the day, set the high-tech marvel on his dresser, and be a one-armed cripple once more.

 _No_ , James typed. _ill explan tmmrw. is there anythng clint cant eat?_

 _No allergies, him or me,_ came the nearly instantaneous response. _He has a vendetta against vegetables at the moment tho. He loves chocolate milk. I try to keep him away from too much juice._

James stared at the phone's screen, wondering at this strange intimacy. Somewhere in the city, Steve was doing the same thing, waiting for James to type out another message and send it to him.

Mouth dry, James wrote, _no chollcate here – nat found the choco syrp bttle last mnth and drank it._

 _:D:D_ , then, _I'll bring juice boxes for Clint. Should I bring anything else?_

_wel make sandwichs so no. c u at 12?_

_Of course :)_

James tossed the phone onto the counter, wondering what the fuck he was doing. He'd told himself time and again that he needed to stop pining after straight boys, especially beautiful blond straight boys like Steve Rogers. He was only going to set himself up for disappointment, and he had too much on his plate to handle this kind of emotional bullshit.

He had responsibilities now. He was a father, had a good job, a nice house. There was no place in his life for love, especially when it came to flights of fancy about his straight childhood friend.

James just wished that reminder didn't come with such a crushing sense of loneliness.

* * *

About an hour later, Natasha stumbled down the stairs, yawning and sleep-tousled. She crawled up onto James' lap, resting her cheek on his chest and closing her eyes again.

James put his right arm around Natasha, feeling her breathing steadily. Every day, he thanked the stars and the fates and whatever else was listening for Natasha, for her health, for the miracles of modern medicine had kept her alive in that pediatric ICU ward, machines bigger than her tiny body breathing for her until her lungs healed enough for her to breathe on her own.

Now, five years later, Natasha showed few signs of her start in life, only the odd spot of breathlessness when she over-exerted herself in dance class or at the playground. She used a daily inhaler to keep her lungs clear, and her bedroom was outfitted with an air purifier and humidifier for the bad days. But she was just a normal, healthy, happy little girl.

"Daddy," Natasha said, blinked up at him. "You took your arm off."

"I did." The metal arm was up in his bedroom, recharging in its stand on his dresser. "I didn't need to wear it any more today."

Natasha cuddled up to him, rubbing her face against his chest and, James noted with deep parental resignation, wiping snot on his shirt. "Are you sad?" she asked after a moment, gripping at his shirt. Her eyes were wide and steady, bright green in the late afternoon sun coming in at the windows.

James took a moment before he answered. Natasha was such a sensitive little girl, but like most children, completely self-centered. If her daddy was sad, she would think it was her fault.

James put his hand around her ribs and lifted her up into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might. "I'm a little sad," James said, kissing the side of Natasha's head. "But it's because of things that happened to me so long ago, before I ever met you."

Natasha shifted on his lap, her bony little knees digging into his thighs. "Who made you sad?" she demanded.

James reached out with the stump of his left arm to steady Natasha as she wiggled. "People who can't make me sad anymore." Natasha pulled back so she could look at James. "Do you know what's the most important thing in the world to me now?"

Natasha shook her head.

"You are." James poked Natasha in the tummy, and the girl's mouth turned up into a smile. "You make me the happiest daddy in the whole wide world."

The delight on Natasha's face was a sight to behold. "In the _whole_ _world_?"

"Absolutely."

"Even in Detroit?"

"Yes."

"Even in Australia?"

Wondering a bit at the geographical knowledge of a five-year-old, James said, "Yes."

"Even in _Sesame Street_?"

"Everywhere!" James said with a smile, tickling Natasha and sending her into fits of giggles. "Everywhere you are, that makes me happy."

* * *

James woke early on Sunday. Natasha's afternoon nap the previous day kept her up until ten and she was still sleeping when James peeked in at her bedroom door. Taking a moment to straighten the covers, James left Natasha to sleep the morning out.

With the unexpected free time, James went down to his workout room in the basement and set to his usual routine, on machines that had been modified with attachments for him to be able to work his left side. James moved through his routine with less attention than normal, because this was the day Steve Rogers was coming to his house.

He didn't understand why he was so worried. Steve had been over to his house a million times when they were kids. Steve had been in foster care nearly his whole life, a scrawny kid who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He was always getting into trouble, and James used to tell Steve that he was lucky he was so smart because otherwise he'd have been kicked out of school six ways from Sunday.

They were best friends for over five years, from the first day of second grade to that awful day just after they both turned twelve and Steve had shown up at James' place with the news that he was being adopted and taken away to New Jersey and it felt like James' life was just _ending_.

James had tried to keep up with Steve after he moved away to New Jersey, really he did, but missing Steve had hurt so much. The letters James did write were pathetic things, and eventually stopped. He had Steve's last letter, sent a year after he left, still unopened in a box of things James' mother saved after he joined the Army.

His parents were dead now, his dad to an accident when James was in high school, his mother to cancer while he was in Iraq. His sister Rebecca lived in Oregon and they hadn't talked since she told him he was making a mistake in adopting Natasha.

Not for the first time, James wondered what his parents would have made of him adopting Natasha. His dad would have been outraged that James would take in some sickly infant (and her mother an illegal too, deported back to _Russia_ ) while his mother would have masked her worry with solicitude all while telling James he had no idea how to care for a baby and it might be best if he gave her up 'for her own good'.

James loved his parents, but fuck that.

Natasha was the best thing that ever happened to him.

* * *

**_2009_ **

As with so many things in James' life, it was all Nick Fury's fault.

Fury, former Army Ranger, current deputy director of New York's Child Protective Services and full-time manipulative bastard, found James in the lobby of the hospital where he was undergoing specialized treatment for the remains of his left arm, and chivvied him up and along until they got to the pediatrics ward.

James argued with Nick the whole way, feeling sick and weak and sorry for himself. He just wanted to go home, and Nick responded with, "You can go home. Not everyone is as lucky."

They were at the glass window then, separating the ICU from the hallway. Nick pointed out a bed by the window; all James could see were tubes. Then the tubes moved, and James could make out a baby nearly hidden under all that medical equipment.

"Whooping cough, complicated by pneumonia," Nick said, glaring at James with his good eye. "She's two months old and she's probably going to die."

James touched the glass, unable to take his eyes off the baby. She was so _small_ , she didn't even look real.

"The birth mother signed off on the adoption and we were going to put the baby up for placement when one of the other children in the foster home brings home whooping cough from school." Nick made a sound in his throat. "It's 2009 and I got kids with fucking whooping cough."

"Is she…" James closed his mouth before asking if the baby was going to be _okay_ , Nick had just said she was going to die. So instead he asked, "What's her name?"

The look on Nick's face had at the time been impossible to read, but later James realized that it was an expression of triumph. "Her birth mother put Natalia on the birth certificate, but in the adoption interviews she kept calling the baby Natasha."

Natasha. James watched as the baby opened and closed her fist, her fingers so white they were nearly blue. "Why is she all alone in there?"

"ICU's a busy place," Nick said. "Nurses got stuff to do."

"Don't you have people waiting to adopt white babies?" James asked, rubbing his hand on his jeans. His left side ached with the weather, and he wanted to go home and wallow in his own misery.

"People want healthy white babies, not dying little girls."

"Why did you bring me here?" James demanded, his voice drawing attention from the nurses' station at the end of the hall. "What's the game, Nick?"

"The game, Sergeant, is simple." Nick took a step towards him. "There's a little girl in there, and I thought you might want to crawl out of your hole long enough to make sure she's not alone."

"You're an asshole," James said, moving away from the glass. "You can't order me around anymore, you got out of this game years ago."

Nick didn't say anything as James stalked off down the hall.

James made it as far as the hospital lobby. He should have left, gone home and left Nick Fury to his responsibilities, but the gift shop was open and he found himself walking inside, looking at the teddy bears and tiny balloons, and wondering if the baby (Natasha, he said to himself; she might be a baby but she had a name) had ever been given a toy.

Twenty minutes later, he was back outside the paediatric ICU, a little green teddy bear in his hand and a paperback in his back pocket.

He half-hoped the nurses would send him away, but they just checked his name against the list of verified visitors for Natasha Romanova (James could see his name written in Fury's scrawl on the ledger) and got him into scrubs and gloves and a mask and sent him into the room.

The room itself was quiet and warm, beeping noises coming from the various machines. A nurse sat James down at the baby's bedside and told him to buzz before he came out, so they could decontaminate him.

So James sat and looked at the baby. She had an oxygen tube taped in place and an IV needle in her arm. When James touched her hand, she blinked at him, her eyes frighteningly green in her pale face.

"Hi there," James said, feeling like a fool. "I'm James, I'm a friend of Nick Fury. He's off somewhere making sure you're taken care of."

The baby grabbed his finger. She was so _small_ , her whole hand could barely wrap around his finger. How could she be two months old already?

"It's nice to meet you," James said, giving the tiny hand a shake. "Nick tells me you're having a hard time."

The baby breathed noisily, but she wasn't coughing and James figured that had to be something. Carefully, he extracted his hand from the baby's grip to retrieve the book. The gift shop clerk said it was good for little girls, whatever that meant, and anyway, a baby this young wouldn't know what he was saying.

"So," James said, fumbling open the pages one-handed. "Here we go, I hope you like it." He cleared his throat. "Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted…"

He read slowly, stumbling over the words in places. He hadn't talked much since he was shipped back to the States without his arm. But the baby didn't criticize him, didn't call him dumb or cripple or any of the other words rattling about his head. She just listened to his voice, waving her hands and feet listlessly, but her eyes never left him.

Just as James was describing how the girl Sarah was meeting a very spoiled child named Lottie, the baby's breathing changed. It took James a moment to realize that the soft hitching was Natasha trying to draw breath, to cough, but something was wrong.

A moment later, two nurses materialized at Natasha's bedside, one of them firmly moving James out of the way. They moved with assurance as they tended the baby on the hospital bed.

James couldn't take his eyes off the little girl. She was so small, so sick, and the only people she had to look out for her were the hospital staff. No parents, no family. No one cared.

Once the baby was breathing easier, one of the nurses herded James out of the ward, took him through the decontamination process, and eventually kicked him out into the hallway.

He stood looking through the glass for a while, watching as the nurses settled the baby. She wasn't even strong enough to cry like a baby should. James remembered how his younger sister cried as a baby – at two months, she was loud enough to wake the dead.

It wasn't right that this baby couldn't even cry when she was cold or scared.

James left the hospital and wandered around for a while, for once barely noticing the double-takes of strangers at this man with the empty sleeve.

He ended up at Nick Fury's office, and after a bit of an altercation with the front desk clerk, found himself sitting across the desk from the man himself.

"I know what you're doing," James announced.

"Do you now?" Nick demanded, leaning back in his chair. "What's that, exactly?"

James rubbed his hand against his pant leg, remembering the way the baby had gripped his fingers. "You said it, who would want to adopt a sick kid?"

"Is that what I said?" Nick heaved himself to his feet and walked around to close the office door. "You think this is some grand scheme to get some disabled Army vet to adopt a baby? Do you even know what to do with a baby?"

"I know which end the food goes in," James shot back.

"You're a damned fool, thinking a one-armed ex-Ranger can take care of a baby." Nick picked up a thick packet of paper from the desk and tossed it to James. "Fill all that shit out, then we'll talk."

James glanced through the first few pages. It was an application to adopt. "I didn't say I'd do this," he protested, albeit a little weakly.

"Do you know how much infant ICU care costs in this country?" Nick asked, seating himself. "And if, and I stress if, that little girl survives the next few months, how many parents are going to be lining up to pay for her medical insurance? Does the phrase 'pre-existing conditions' mean anything to you?"

James spread his hand over the packet of papers, taking a deep breath. He might not know where this was going to go, but he was here and he couldn't walk away from someone who needed him, not now. "I can get her on my benefits."

"You also need to feed her," Nick said. "Clothes, shoes, schoolbooks. You think you can hack that?"

Sitting up straighter, James glared back at Nick. "She needs someone to take care of her."

Nick's silent appraisal was unsettling, but James made himself sit still. "She's not a puppy," Nick said after a while. "You start this, Barnes, you better be damned sure you're going to stick around until she leaves for college."

College. James mind filled in the blanks on that one. College was eighteen years away, eighteen long years of school and summer camps and sports lessons and dentist's visits. Since he'd lost his arm, he'd barely thought beyond the next week, let alone years.

Maybe Nick saw something on James' face, because the other man asked, "Why are you doing this?"

James looked down at the stack of papers. "I was…" He cleared his throat. "I was reading to her today, and she kept looking at me like no one ever read to her before." He fiddled with the edges of the paper. "It's no start in life to be lying in a hospital bed. I guess I get it."

A long silence, then Nick said, "She still might not make it, Barnes. She is really sick."

James swallowed. Only four hours before, he'd been standing in the hospital lobby feeling sorry for himself, and now he was trying to adopt a baby that might not even survive the week. "Then someone should be there. So she's not alone."

Nick sighed, looking about twenty years older. "Get the hell out of my office," he said. "Go fill out that  paperwork, I pay a lot of people to figure all this  out for me."

James stood. "Thanks, I guess." He turned around to go.

"Barnes." James stopped. "Don't fuck this up."

James spent the night filling out the paperwork, carefully printing tiny blue words on the thin paper, and was at the hospital the next day when visiting hours opened. Maybe it was his imagination, but little Natasha seemed to be doing better. He read to her for a little bit, stopping when it seemed that Sarah Crewe's fates were about to change, then showed her a video of some cats he had on his phone. The baby waved her hands, trying to grab at the phone until James took it away.

"There's a bunch of people who don't think you're strong enough to beat this," he said, letting her grab his thumb. "What do you say we prove them wrong, huh Natasha?"

* * *

James was drawn out of his memories by the sound of the television on the floor above. He paused mid-pushup to listen. From the sounds of things, Natasha and the Chinese army were about to get down to the business of defeating the Huns.

James finished his workout and went upstairs. In the living room, Natasha was singing along with the movie, hopping around in her interpretation of a training montage. James smiled at the little girl's intensity as she kicked and punched the air.

"Morning, sweetheart," James called over the music.

"Not now, Daddy!" Natasha scolded, never taking her eyes off the television. "I'm busy!"

"Uh huh." James picked up the remote control to pause the movie. Natasha let out a bellow of outrage and tried to grab the remote from his hand. "We've got people coming over today, are you going to be ready?"

Natasha put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Of course I am!" she exclaimed.

James handed Natasha the remote control. "I have to take a shower. Can you wait to have breakfast until I'm done?"

Natasha pushed the button to rewind the movie to the start of the musical number. "Yes. Go away, you stinky." She hit play.

James gave his shirt a sniff as he climbed the stairs. He didn't smell too bad. He'd been working hard for over an hour, he was bound to sweat.

"Kids," he muttered to himself as he shucked off his clothes and headed into the shower. He took his time, washing his hair with the special shampoo that made his hair shine, and using the sandalwood-scented body wash Natasha made him buy. After his shower, James shaved carefully with one of his safety razors, instead of the electric razor he used most days.

This was not a date, he told himself firmly. This was about Natasha and Clint having a play date, not about James getting to see his childhood crush again after over twenty years.

In the bedroom, James strapped on his arm before reaching for his last clean shirt. He'd have to go to the drycleaners that week, he thought absently as he buttoned the shirt, the metal hand working carefully on the small buttons. If he dropped Natasha off at school early on Wednesday, he could squeeze the trip in before he had to head into the city for a meeting with some clients.

Taking one last look in the mirror, James went back downstairs.

Natasha had grown bored with _Mulan_ and was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from one of her small milk cartons. "Daddy!" she squeaked when he entered the room. "You're so _pretty_!"

James doubted that, but for Natasha, _pretty_ was the highest compliment a person could receive. "Thank you, sweetheart. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Pancakes." Natasha slid off her chair and wandered over to James. "Up me."

James lifted Natasha onto the counter, then started to arrange the fixings for the Barnes family Sunday pancakes. As soon as Natasha was old enough to hold a wooden mixing spoon, she'd insisted on helping James with the pancakes. By that point, James was used to the incredible mess Natasha could make merely by existing, and if half the pancake mix ended up on the girl instead of in the bowl, well, it would wash off.

Today, Natasha was quiet as she stirred the batter. Not even James asking her to set the table could draw a response.

Finally, when they were sitting down to eat, Natasha stabbed her pancakes with her fork and said, "What if he doesn't like me?"

James paused, syrup bottle in hand. "Who?"

Natasha rested in her chin in her hand, looking pensive. "The boy."

"Clint?" At her nod, James set the syrup down. "Come here." He waited as Natasha slid off her chair and walked around to climb up into his lap. "You are a very likeable girl," he told her once she had settled herself. "But you know what? Not everyone likes everyone else all the time."

Natasha frowned. "But I want him to like me."

"I know." James bounced her on his knee, making Natasha smile. "But we can't control if other people like us. All we can do is to be ourselves and say _please_ and _thank you_ and if someone doesn't like you, that's okay."

The little speech was copied nearly word-for-word off one of the parenting blogs James read, but Natasha didn't know that and besides, James wasn't really good at putting things like that into words on his own.

"But I want him to like me," Natasha said, her lower lip out in a pout. "He has a bow and arrow, and he likes dinosaurs!"

"We'll just see what happens, won't we?" James kissed Natasha's cheek and set her on the ground. "Go eat, your pancakes are getting soggy."

As breakfast continued, James found that he was also worried about the lunch date that afternoon. He didn't know if he and Steve had anything in common any more, besides children of a similar age. Hell, the man James had been after he came home from Iraq missing his arm was far different than who he'd been before he shipped off for his first deployment.

"Daddy, I'm done," Natasha announced as she pushed her plate away.

And she was, fingers covered in syrup, blueberry mashed on her chin. James swallowed one last bite and gestured to Natasha to follow him. "We need to get you cleaned up before the ants get you and carry you to their nest."

"The ants won't get me!" Natasha squealed, and dashed off to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Natasha was cleaned and brushed, and James was left trying to blot out the water stains on his shirt while Natasha considered her wardrobe. It took twenty minutes of negotiations to talk Natasha out of wearing her pink sparkling princess dress ("But _you're_ dressed up, Daddy!") and into something that wouldn't get too wrecked when she ended up rolling in the dirt.

By eleven o'clock, James was slumped on the sofa, exhausted. The breakfast dishes hadn't been done, the living room was a mess, and he'd looked in the fridge and realized that he didn't have any mayo for sandwiches. This was going to be a disaster.

And then his phone beeped.

 _We still good for 12?_ came Steve's text. _Can I bring anything?_

James stared at the message for a long moment, wondering if Steve had somehow developed telepathic capabilities. _i have no mayo :( can u brng that?_

_Of course :D see you soon._

With a groan, James hauled his aching body to its feet. "Nat!" he shouted. His daughter appeared at the top of the stairs. "Give your old man a hand in the kitchen, will you?"

* * *

At exactly twelve o'clock, Natasha and James were sitting on the front stoop watching the road. Natasha was vibrating with excitement.

"Daddy, do you think the boy will like me?"

"His name is Clint, and of course I do."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're a nice person."

"Will I like _him_?"

"Probably."

"Do you like him?"

"I don't even know him yet."

"But will you?"

"Probably."

Natasha paused in her questions to run to the bottom of the steps to peer out along the sidewalk. James leaned back, enjoying the sunshine. It was going to be a hot summer, but for now, the weather was perfect.

Natasha ran back up the stairs and climbed onto James' lap. He put his metal arm around her. "Daddy," Natasha said, grabbing a handful of his shirt, "How do you be friends?"

James smoothed the hair back from her forehead. "Well," he said, searching his memory to find the last time he'd tried to make a friend. Probably when he was in basic training. "You can find something that you're both interested in, and then you can talk about that thing, and be friends."

To his adult ears, the explanation sounded weak, but Natasha's eyes were wide and considering. "How do you know if they like the things you like?"

"You ask." James eased his shirt out of her grip, smoothing out the wrinkles. "And if they don't like that thing, you can find something else."

"What were you and Mr. Rogers friends about?"

James pushed his hair back behind his ear. "Honestly, Nat, I can't remember any more. It was too long ago."

"How long?"

"I met Steve when I was seven."

"How old are you now?"

"Thirty-two."

Natasha's mouth opened into a little round _O_. "Daddy, you're old!"

"I am not," James protested. Natasha started giggling. "You're old."

"Daaaaaddy!"

Before things devolved, James caught sight of Steve's blond head bobbing down the street. James stood up, slung Natasha over his shoulder, and walked down the steps to meet their guests.

Steve looked even better than he had the day before. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and khakis, and he was so happy to see James that James didn't know what to do.

As usual, Natasha saved him. "Hi!" she shouted, waving from James' shoulder. Clint waved back. "Daddy, down!"

James swung Natasha to the ground and stood waiting nervously as Steve and Clint approached. The little boy was holding Steve's left hand, while in his other hand, Steve was carrying a sports bag. It was just incongruous enough to snap James out of his uncertainty.

"Did you find the place okay?" James asked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, it was easy."

"We took the subway!" Clint chimed in.

At James' side, Natasha took a step forward. "I like the subway," she said.

"I got to swipe the card," Clint told Natasha. "It was _cool_."

"Cool," Natasha repeated in a whisper.

"All right," James interrupted this little conclave. "Let's go inside and have some lunch."

"Good idea," Steve said, and James led the way up the steps into the brownstone.

He opened the inside door and gave Natasha a pat on the back to go in first, then held the door for their guests. Steve maneuvered past, handling boy and bag. James caught a whiff of Steve's cologne, something warm and fresh. He stopped himself from leaning forward to get a better smell because _one does not go around smelling straight boys and not expect to get punched._

There was an awkward silence once the door closed. James didn't know if he should suggest they eat right away. He cleared his throat. "So, this is it."

Steve put the sports bag on the floor. "This is a nice place," he said. "Just you and Natasha?"

"Yeah."

Natasha, who had been staring at Clint, said, "I'm five and one-quarter. How old are you?"

"I'm almost six."

"Do you go to school?"

"Uh huh."

"Me too." Natasha stuck her tummy out and swayed in place for a moment, then said, "Do you want to see my spiders?"

"Okay," Clint said immediately. Natasha took Clint's hand and led him toward the basement stairs.

The expression on Steve's face was one of bemused tolerance. "She has toy spiders?"

James, who was watching his daughter with concern, said, "No," and followed the children down the stairs.

In the basement, Natasha guided Clint past the exercise room, past the laundry room, and down the hallway to the closed red door set far back in the house. As she went up on her tip-toes to open the door, something touched the small of James' back and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"This is a spooky welcome," Steve said, his mouth so close to James' ear that James could feel Steve's breath warm on the side of his neck.

Swallowing hard, James said, "We keep all of our lunch guests down here."

"Good, I wouldn't want to feel left out."

With a mighty shove, Natasha pushed back the door bolt and pulled the door open. "Come on!" she said to Clint, and hauled him into the dim storage room.

"Where are the spiders?" Clint asked, a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

"I show you." As James leaned against the doorframe to watch, Natasha picked up the old flashlight and pointed it at the far wall, behind the dust-covered stroller. "There they are!"

And so they were; spider webs draped across the wall, with small black and brown spots sitting in the middle of the webs.

"Wow," Clint said, his eyes wide. "Are they all yours?"

"Yes," Natasha said proudly. "This is my spider family."

Steve, standing in the doorway beside James, said in a quiet voice, "You look pole axed."

"I can't figure out when she's ever been down here without me," James said, while Natasha told Clint the names of her spiders.

"You're not afraid of spiders, are you?"

"Shut up," James said, pushing his elbow into Steve's ribs. Steve let out a breathy chuckle, and James' insides started to melt. Twenty years after he developed his first crush on skinny little Steve Rogers, and the man was even more wonderful than he remembered.

"I don't know if I like spiders," Clint was saying. "They can't fly."

"Some can," Natasha said.

Clint put his left index finger in his mouth and chewed on the knuckle. "I think I like birds better."

"Birds are okay," Natasha said. "They eat spiders."

"I have a book about birds," Clint said, his chest puffing up with importance. "Do you want to see?"

Natasha jumped up and down, the flashlight sending weird light dancing around the room. "I do!"

Clint rushed over to Steve. "Daddy, did we bring the bird book?"

"Of course we did," Steve said fondly, reaching down to ruffle Clint's hair. "It's in the bag upstairs."

"Come on!" Clint said to Natasha. Natasha shoved the flashlight at James and ran after Clint.

As the footsteps retreated, James switched off the flashlight and put it back inside the room. "Kids."

"Yeah, they're a handful," Steve said, moving back into the hallway while James closed up the storage room. "Natasha's a great kid."

James slid the bolt home. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I know what you mean." Steve was staring at James, his arms crossed over his chest. Somehow, in the dim light of the corridor, James could see his old friend in this large man, and it helped ease the distance of twenty years. "Clint… well, me and his mother fucked up, but Clint… Yeah. He's great."

"You're divorced?" James asked, turning in the direction of the upstairs. He couldn't hear the children and it was making him nervous.

"Never got to the marrying part," Steve confessed, falling in step with James. "I met Sharon when I was dating her cousin in college, and Sharon and me spent some time together after I moved back to New York, but we never planned for Clint. Still, best surprise I ever had."

James, who still spent some time with Nick Fury, knew more statistics around custody and family make up than most men his age. "You've got custody of Clint?"

Steve nodded. "Sharon's job is all over the place and we thought it would be better if Clint had a stable home."

The man's voice was even and happy; no suppressed anger or irritation when he spoke about Clint or the boy's mother. That eased James' mind a bit. He knew too many men, with custody or without, who resented their children's mothers and that tainted their interactions with their kids.

"What about Natasha?" Steve asked as they came up onto the main floor.

James held off on answering, for even thought the children had only been alone for thirty seconds, they had already managed to turn the place into a disaster. The contents of Steve's sports bag were strewn across the living room floor, clothes and smaller bags and food. Clint and Natasha were sprawled on their tummies, pouring over a large book, each of them with a juice box clutched in their hands.

James rolled his eyes. "Come on, into the kitchen," he said, waving his hands at the children. Clint got to his feet without complaint, but Natasha grumbled the entire way.

Once the kids were installed at the table with the book, James went back to help Steve gather up his belongings. "You always travel this light?" James teased Steve.

"You don't?" Steve tossed a jar of mayonnaise at James. "If I bring it with me, Clint doesn't need it. If I don't… well, you know."

"Yeah." James kicked a small first-aid kit over to Steve. "For us, it's usually got glitter on it, though."

"No glitter for Clint," Steve said, shoving the last of the clothing into the bag. "Just purple. Lots of purple."

Peals of childish laughter sounded from the kitchen. Steve smiled, but the expression was enough of a slip for James to see how exhausted he was. "You want some coffee?" James asked.

"Hell yeah."

In the kitchen, Clint was standing on one leg on his chair, his arms outstretched. Natasha was laughing up at him.

"Off the furniture!" Steve said, hurrying over to the table. James left them to it, putting the mayonnaise in the fridge and going to fiddle with the coffee maker. By the time the coffee was ready, Steve had settled the children and was reading to them from the book. Natasha was looking at the page, following along with Steve's recitation, but Clint was staring up at his dad with wide eyes.

"That's a good story," Natasha said, when Steve turned the page. "Daddy, Mr. Rogers tells good stories."

"Yes, he does," James said. "Do you guys want to read more, or do you want to show Clint the back yard?"

"Back yard!" Natasha screeched, flinging herself off the chair. "Come see my garden!"

Clint was reluctant to leave his book, but he picked up his juice box and followed Natasha.

James let Steve get his own coffee, and was sitting on the back step watching the children poke around the raised garden boxes when Steve joined him. They sat in comfortable silence, watching Natasha and Clint look at the small green sprouts and pat around in the dirt.

"This is nice," Steve said after a while. "It's a great place for a kid."

"Yeah." James rested his metal arm on his knee, shifting around to take the weight off his ribs. "It's a quiet neighborhood, doesn't get too crazy."

"Good." Steve put down his cup. "Is this the part where I can ask about Natasha's mother?"

"If you want to." James watched as Natasha lifted up a double handful of dirt and looked meaningfully at Clint. James let out a whistle. "We do not rub dirt on other people!" he yelled.

Natasha frowned at him as if he'd taken away her favorite toy, but she put the dirt back down.

"We also don't rub dirt on ourselves," Steve chimed in, as Clint looked meditatively at the garden box. "Got it?"

Clint made a face as he and Natasha wandered over to the base of the large oak tree in the corner of the small yard.

"We should take them down to the beach some day, let them get dirty," Steve said. "Remember us doing that when we were kids?"

James did; hazy summer days on the beach with Steve, his parents far off in the distance with his little sister. Then Steve had gone off to New Jersey with his new family and that was that. "We could do that."

By the base of the tree, Natasha was showing Clint how to make little patterns with the small stones. Her auburn hair shone like rubies in the sunlight, a contrast to Clint's dark-gold.

"Natasha's adopted," James said after a minute. "I don't know where her mother is, I think she was deported. She could have taken the kid with her back to Russia, but she just didn't want anything to do with the baby. She was adamant that the kid stay in the States."

Steve was staring at James. "You're sure?"

James shot Steve a glare. "Yeah, I'm sure." His lawyer had insisted on reviewing the files on the birth mother while the adoption was being finalized, and James had seen the redacted deposition that the mother had given Child Services. "They put Natasha into a foster home right after she was born, but she got sick, like real sick. That's when I met her, when she was in the hospital."

"And you adopted her."

"Yeah." James rubbed his eyes. "Well, no, you know how it goes. When they let her out of the hospital I took her home as a foster parent. The adoption was finalized when she was a year and a half."

James remembered that day as if it had been yesterday – Natasha, eighteen months old, walking and talking and getting into everything. He remembered sitting on that hard bench in the courthouse, holding Natasha on his lap in her new green dress, specially bought for the occasion. Her hair was up in two tiny red pigtails and she clung to her favorite 'dolly', a stuffed penguin named Oz. She pointed at everyone who passed them, saying nonsense words, until it was time to go into the judge's chamber. James hadn't been so nervous since his first day of basic training.

"So it's just us," James finished. "But we make it work."

"Good."

The children were now storming up and down the steps to the lower level, yelling at the top of their lungs.

"Clint acts like he can hear really good," James said, draining the last drops from his cup.

"He's doing okay," Steve said. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "When he was two, he caught one of those things that was going around, you know?" James nodded. "He'd never had any problems with ear infections before, but this time…" Steve looked at his hands. "By the time I realized something was wrong, there was already some damage. The doctor said there was some sort of genetic predisposition, like that made it any better."

"Just the one ear?"

"Yeah, his right. His left ear's fine. They suggested the hearing aid so he has normal language development and stuff. But…" Steve sighed. "The docs keep saying that we need to be aware that as he gets older, it might get worse."

James looked at Clint, the boy pulling faces at Natasha as she giggled. "Does he know that?"

"We had a talk." Steve stared into his coffee cup. "I don't know if he gets it."

"How much adult stuff did you get when you were five?"

"My mom died when I was five," Steve said, voice nearly inaudible. "I went through so much shit back then, I just want to keep that from Clint, you know?"

"Yeah."

There was a moment's silence, then Steve asked, "So can I ask about the arm?"

"Nope," James said immediately. He stood. "Lunch time!" he called to the children.

The distraction of getting two dirty children cleaned up and to the table for food put enough of a barrier between him and the question.

He hadn't had time to make lunch before Steve arrived, so James just put everything onto the table for everyone to make their own sandwich. Natasha dove right in, slathering mayonnaise onto her bread. Clint was more hesitant, pulling at Steve's arm for help.

"I love cheese," Natasha said, carefully placing two slices of cheddar onto her bread before James moved the cheese away from her. "I love it _so_ much!"

"How much?" James asked.

Natasha clenched her hands into tiny fists. " _So much!_ "

Clint was watching as Steve spread peanut butter onto a slice of bread. "That's all," the boy said, pulling the plate away from Steve.

"Do you want any vegetables?" James asked. Clint shook his head, but Natasha put her hand up into the air.

"I do!" she shouted. James retrieved the container of the previous night's steamed vegetables from the fridge, and barely had the lid off before Natasha pulled it out of his hand. She happily piled steamed carrots and beans onto her plate. "You have some too," she said, and thrust the container at Clint.

Reluctantly, Clint took a piece of carrot out of the container and put it in his mouth. Natasha beamed at him.

James caught Steve's eye, and they grinned over Clint's head.

Once Natasha's cheese sandwich was sliced to her satisfaction, the children turned their attention back to the bird book, leaving the adults to their conversation. Steve told James that he was head of development and fundraising for a local philanthropic agency (James noted that he was careful to avoid naming it), and asked James about his day job.

"Private security consulting," James said around a mouthful of chicken.

"Like, body guarding?" Steve asked, and to his credit he kept any disbelief out of his voice.

"Not exactly." James reached out to move Natasha's hair out of her water glass. "I work with a bunch of construction firms around town. They bring us in when their clients want to talk about home security."

"That pays well?" Steve asked, his eyebrow furrowed.

James shrugged. "You remember what it was like, growing up around my dad's construction sites. It was something I could get into after the Army."

There was a lot more that James could say, but didn't – how he could work from home so it didn't matter how late Natasha kept him up with her crying, or the bullshit he used to get when he showed up on a construction job with Natasha in a baby carrier (with a tiny hard hat on her head; the crew thought that was the funniest thing ever). He just reached across the table and picked up the leftover half of Natasha's sandwich.

"You done, pumpkin?"

"Yes. Can we have dessert?"

"We don't have anything for dessert."

Natasha leaned back in her chair. "Can we _make_ dessert?"

Clint perked up. "Can we?" he demanded, clutching at his father's shirt with peanut-butter-smeared fingers.

"If it's all right with Mr. Barnes," Steve said, smiling.

Clint shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth and jumped off his chair, following Natasha over to the cupboards where she was dragging the stand mixer to the floor. Hauling himself to his feet, James went over to help before anyone got hurt.

Baking was a common past time in the Barnes household, but Clint watched as if he'd never seen such a wonder before. Natasha happily measured out sugar and flour while James tipped a pound of butter into the bowl. "Stand back!" Natasha shouted dramatically as she poured the sugar into the bowl. "On my mark! Three! Two!"

James rolled his eyes, but waited until she got to "ONE!" before turning on the mixer.

"You want to crack the eggs?" James asked Steve.

"No, that's my job!" Natasha objected. She frowned up at James. "Daddy, you're taking all the fun away!"

"Is that what I'm doing?" James asked. "Okay, go wash your hands."

The next few minutes were spent supervising two five-year-olds in cracking eggs into a bowl, then trying to fish out the yolks. Natasha was experienced at such things, but Clint, who made faces as the sliminess of the raw eggs, was slower at the process.

"It's squishy," he informed his father, holding out a dripping yolk cupped in both hands.

"I'll take your word for it," Steve said. "What do you use the egg whites for?"

"Breakfast," James said, distracted by how blue Steve's eyes were when he smiled, and so wasn't in time to stop Natasha from pouring the egg yolks into the bowl with the mixer on top speed.

Half an hour later, when egg yolk spatter had been cleaned off walls, ceiling and children, and the cake batter was in the oven, James slumped on the living room couch, exhausted and aching. Steve, for all his muscles, wasn't in much better shape.

The children, however, were still going strong. Natasha and Clint dashed up and down the brownstone's staircases, occasionally making a detour into the kitchen to make sure the cake was okay.

"Remember when your mom told us that if we jumped around too much, the whole house would shake and the cake would fall?" Steve asked as the children ran screaming around the couches and back up the stairs.

"I tried that with Natasha when she was three," James said. "She spent twenty minutes jumping up and down in front of the oven to prove me wrong. She hasn't listened to a damned thing I've said since."

They swapped kid stories for a while the children dashed around. When the timer rang for the cake, Steve held the kids back while James removed the pan from the oven.

"We need to eat it now!" Natasha insisted.

"The cake needs to cool down first," James told her. "I thought we were going to go to the park. When we come back the cake will be cool enough."

Grumbling, Natasha and Clint were convinced to put on their socks and shoes and head out the front door. James made sure he had Natasha's inhaler in his pocket, then activated the security system and locked the door after himself.

Out on the sidewalk, Steve had both children by the hand, and was listening to them both talk to him at the same time. James hung back, watching as Steve handled the conversation, deflecting until the children's attention was back on each other, and they chattered happily, cake angst forgotten.

It was only a few short blocks to the park. Once inside the gates, Clint and Natasha tore away from Steve and ran over to the jungle gym, screaming and laughing as they climbed about.

"How do they keep this up?" Steve asked wonderingly, collapsing on a bench at the side of the playground.

"When Natasha gets like this, she usually conks out after dinner," James said, stretching out at Steve's side. "Which gives me just enough time to get everything ready for Monday morning before I pass out."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, Sundays can be a little crazy around our place too," he mused. "At least I don't have to be at work until ten."

"You work in the city?"

"Yeah, I can get in on the train after I drop Clint off." Steve looked at James. "It really is good to see you again, Bucky."

James let out a breath, trying to hide the sudden churning of emotions in his chest. Steve Rogers had been his childhood best friend, his first real crush, the most important person in his life for a very long time. It had taken James a long time to get over Steve, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle losing Steve a second time. "Same here, punk," he said, punching Steve in the arm.

Steve pretended to be knocked back under the weight of the blow. "It's good to know that twenty years hasn't improved your vocabulary much."

"Shut up." James rested his metal arm on the bench's back, taking the pressure off the harness. "That family you got in Jersey, they treat you right?"

"Yeah." Steve's smile faded slightly. "Dr. Erskine is a good man. It was a good place to grow up."

"Good." James glanced over at the children. Clint was climbing higher and higher, while Natasha was hesitating on the lower steps. "I sure missed you, though."

"I missed you too," Steve replied. He took a deep breath, let it out, but didn't speak.

James didn't need him to. He could just imagine what Steve was thinking: _why didn't you write back, why didn't you come see me, why did you forget about me._

Nothing could have been further from the truth, but James didn't know how to explain how wrecked he'd been without Steve.

"I guess it's good that Natasha has such good aim," Steve said after a few minutes. "Otherwise we'd have walked out of the store without ever seeing you."

"You're the first person to appreciate Natasha's aim," James said, pushing the emotional chaos into the pit of his stomach to deal with later. "Last month she shot her old social worker in the eye patch."

Steve stared at James, clearly unsure if James was joking.

"It was funny," James insisted. "He told her it was a good thing she was so cute."

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted from a shout across the playground. Clint, who had somehow made it to the very top of the structure and was waving his hands. When he saw that he had Steve's attention, he shouted "Parkour!" and jumped into the air.

"Jesus!" Steve exclaimed, diving off the bench. James was on his feet a moment later, but it was too late. Little Clint fell like a stone, slamming into the mulch of the playground surface.

James waited for the screaming to begin, but Clint just stood up and dusted himself off. "I wanna do that again!" he told his father as Steve reached his side.

Steve went down on one knee, patting Clint's arms and legs and checking for signs of damage. "Clint, you know the rules," Steve said, his voice a mix of panic and anger. "You're not allowed to jump off anything higher than my head."

Clint shrugged. "You were sitting down," he said, but he wouldn't meet Steve's eyes.

Steve ran his hand over Clint's head, but there was no violence in the motion, not like how James's own father would have reacted. "Clint," Steve said, and it was obvious that he was trying to keep his voice even. "Did you think that jumping off something that high was a bad idea?"

Now Clint was staring at a button on Steve's shirt. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"And you did it anyway?"

"I guess."

Natasha, who had been watching this scene from halfway up the playground assemblage, suddenly piped up, "Daddy, I wanna jump too!"

This propelled James forward. "Do you want to jump from so high?"

Natasha hesitated. She wasn't that far off the ground, certainly not as high as Clint had been. James could have reached up and picked her off the equipment if he needed to. Still, for a little girl, it was a bit of a drop. "I think so," she said, but she didn't sound convinced.

"You can do it!" Clint shouted in encouragement.

James kept his focus on Natasha. "Do you want me to help you jump?"

After a moment, Natasha nodded. "But don't help me too much!"

Stifling a sigh, James moved over to Natasha's side, put his hands around her torso, and said, "On three. One, two—"

She jumped on _two_ , and James let her down in as close to an approximation of freefall as he could. Once on the ground, Natasha beamed up at James. "I did it!" she cheered.

"You sure jumped good!" Clint exclaimed. "Let's go swing!" He grabbed Natasha's hand and hauled her along over to the swing set.

Steve swore as he straightened up. "I swear to god, that kid's going to send me into an early grave," he muttered, dusting off his knees.

"Parkour, huh," James said, pulling Steve along after the children. "That's one hell of a pastime for a kid to pick up."

"It's not safe," Steve said. By now, the kids had found the one empty swing, and were both trying to climb into it.

"Old man," James scoffed, and slapped Steve on the back. "Hey, kiddos, who wants to head home for cake?"

The screams that met this suggestion were deafening.


	3. Green Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Green Haze by Miles Davis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-Sj3Jdio-Q)

* * *

At bedtime that evening, James tucked a very sleepy Natasha into her bed. "You had fun today, right?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said, blinking slowly. She reached out her hand to wrap around James' fingers. He'd taken off the prosthetic arm as soon as Steve and Clint had left, but Natasha was used to seeing him unarmed. "Daddy, can I tell you a secret?"

James sat on the floor, still holding Natasha's hand. "You can tell me any secret, any time," he said quietly. "What's up?"

Natasha squirmed closer to the edge of the bed. "Me and Clint," she whispered, "Are _best friends_."

"You are?" James said, affecting slight surprise.

"Uh huh. We said so, and he ate my cake and I ate his cake."

"Well, that certainly settles it." James kissed Natasha on the cheek. "How about you get some sleep, and you can be best friends in the morning?"

"Okay." Natasha's eyes were already closing.

James eased his hand out from under Natasha's palm. "I love you, little one," he whispered.

Natasha moved her lips but no sound came out. James sat back and watched Natasha sleep for a few minutes, then he turned off the bedside lamp and navigated his way out of the room in the darkness.

Downstairs, he wandered about for a while, unable to settle. The place was clean, the dishes done, everything ready for the next day.

Giving up on the idea of being productive, on a rare night with Natasha asleep before nine, James did his nightly walk-through of the house, triple-checked every door lock and window latch, then armed the security system and went upstairs for bed.

His body was tired, but his mind wakeful. Normally on such a night, James wouldn't be able to stop himself from going back to his time in the Rangers, about what happened in Iraq, and before that in Afghanistan. Nothing good ever came from such remembrances, but at least James hadn't woken screaming from a nightmare in over six months.

There was always the chance of it being a Bad Night, but the warning signs weren't there; no phantom pain in his missing arm, no worries that he was hearing things. The worst thing James was worried about was a few nightmares that would wake him in a cold sweat.

Still, James closed and locked his bedroom door. If Natasha needed him in the night, he would hear her. It was better than risking Natasha coming in if he was having a nightmare and trying to shake him awake.

The last person to shake him awake, one of the orderlies in the stateside hospital where he'd been evacuated after the roadside bomb blew his arm off, had ended up on the floor with a dislocated jaw and two black eyes. James hadn't risked falling asleep around another person since that day.

So James put a locked door between himself and his daughter, and went to bed.

Staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, James thought about the day, and about Steve, then about the week ahead, and then some more about Steve. The man had grown up since James knew him as a child; tall and broad in the shoulders, but he was so quick and gentle with Clint and with Natasha. He hadn't been impatient or irritated with anything the children had gotten up to, but had let them go about their business without belittling the things they did just because they were children.

A long time ago, when James was a boy pretending to be a man, he'd thought that _tough_ was the same thing as _strong_ , and that was the most important thing a man could be. The more time he spent at war, watching men try to hold it together in situations beyond belief, _tough_ fell apart faster than the sand outside his tent.

Now, one-armed old man that he was, he knew the value in strength, and in kindness. Somehow, whatever he'd been through in life, it seemed as if Steve had also been able to find the value in _kind_.

James wondered, just for an instant, how different his life would have been if his own father had been kind.

* * *

The Monday morning before-school routine in the Barnes' household was progressing much as usual when James' cell rang.

James picked his phone up from the counter, where he'd placed it out of the danger zone of Natasha's glass of milk, and glanced at the display. "Oh crap," he muttered, and swiped to answer the call. "Hey."

"No, not 'hey'," came the voice over the line. "More like 'god damn it, why oh why,' Barnes."

"I should put you on speaker phone, you can give my kid elocution lessons," James said.

"Or you could come open your front door." With that, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Natasha shrieked, flying off her chair and out of the kitchen.

James hung up and followed his daughter. She was already reaching up to unlock the inner door's deadbolt when James caught her up around the middle and swung her out of the way. "What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?" he asked as he opened the inner, then outer, doors.

"It's not a stranger, Daddy!" Natasha shouted joyfully. "It's Maria!"

Maria Hill, the other half of _Winterhill Security Consulting_ , breezed into James' house with an expression that could send seasoned Marines running for the hills. "Why don't you ever actually invite me in?" she asked him, bending down to press a red lipstick kiss onto Natasha's cheek. "Even your five-year-old has better manners."

"You've said time and again that it's obvious I was brought up in a barn," James said, and smiled widely as Maria rolled her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Coffee first." Maria dropped her briefcase onto the couch and made a beeline for the kitchen, Natasha following at her heels like an infatuated puppy.

"Fucking hell," James muttered. He didn't know why Maria Hill would deign to visit his little corner of Brooklyn before eight o'clock in the morning, but he knew whatever it was, wouldn't be easy. Or cheap.

When he made his way into the kitchen, Maria was seated at the round table, drinking his coffee and listening to his daughter talk non-stop about her new friend Clint.

"…and he likes spiders and falcons and dirt and eagles and bluebirds and chickadees and crows!" Natasha took a big breath and went on. "He likes to jump off things that are _really high_ and he has a bow an' arrow and purple is his _favorite!"_

Maria was smiling indulgently at Natasha, an expression James only ever saw directed at persons under the age of seven. "And what about you? What things does he like about you?"

This stalled Natasha for a moment, long enough for James to pour another cup of coffee and slide into a chair at the table. "Um."

"Clint thought your spider family was cool," James contributed. Maria raised her eyebrows at this, but James shook his head. "And he thought it was really neat how you knew how to bake a cake, and he liked your garden boxes in the back yard."

"Yeah," Natasha said, beaming once again.

"You know what would be fun?" Maria asked. "If you made a list of all the things you want to do together with your new friend. You could write that down so you don't forget anything."

"Yeah!" Natasha jumped down from her chair and ran out of the room. A moment later, they could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs.

As soon as the child was out of the room, Maria slumped down in her chair. "The Ryders want to a panic room in the upper story," she said.

"Fuck," James muttered. "I thought we talked them out of that."

"We did."

"Putting an enclosed panic room on the second story means going back in to reinforce three levels of load-bearing walls below."

"I know."

"Do they know how much it would cost for a fully functional fire suppression system to be built-in to support the room?"

"They do."

"So what the hell?"

Maria drummed her fingernails on the table, getting that far-off look in her eyes that James privately called her profiler glare. "I don't know," she said finally. "But you're going to the Hamptons to find out."

"What?" James exclaimed. "Why me?"

"Because Mrs. Ryder listens to you," Maria said smartly. "And because I have been trying to get this appointment with the New York coroner for over seven months now and I am not giving it up because one old woman is freaking out for reasons she won't tell me over the phone."

Maria was right. One member of the partnership was going to have to deal with the Ryders; if the project changed at this late stage, after the house's foundation had been poured, there would be hell to pay with the contractors and everyone's bottom line. And that _someone_ was going to have to be James, because you might be able to take the woman out of the FBI's elite profiling unit, but you'd never take the criminal profiler out of the woman.

Natasha pounded back into the kitchen, clutching one of her prized notebooks. "Daddy, I found it," she said breathlessly, crawling up onto his lap. He moved his coffee aside to help her, putting out his left arm stump to keep her from overbalancing. Maria, who had seen James without his shirt more than once over the course of the firm's partnership, didn't bat an eyelash at the sight of his stump poking out of his t-shirt sleeve. "Look, I already drawed in it and purple is Clint and red is me."

Natasha opened the notebook to the first page and showed James a series of scribbles that might be interpreted as two individuals on a playground, or on Mars, for all James could tell.

"Natasha," James said, shifting Natasha until she was looking at him. "There's been a change in plans."

"What?"

"I have to go out of town for work today."

Natasha zeroed in on him, notebook forgotten. "Are you coming home?" she demanded.

"Of course I'm coming home." James tapped Natasha's nose with his finger. "But I might be a little late, so you may need to go to after-school club for a while."

"Daddy, no!"

"Natasha, it's only going to be for a little while," James said. "I'll be back before dinner."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, working herself up to a mighty pout. Maria saved the day by saying, "Natasha, why don't we list all the things you want to tell Clint about?"

Still glaring daggers at James, Natasha slid off his lap and went over to Maria. "I'll tell you," she said accusingly, never taking her eyes off James. "Not Daddy!"

"You can't be mad at your father if he's taking a shower before driving to the Hamptons," Maria said pointedly, so James gave up and went to get ready for a drive up the coast.

Much like Natasha, Maria Hill's entrance into James' life was Nick Fury's fault. Four years before, during one of the court mandated pre-adoption site visits on which Nick inexplicably tagged along, James had mentioned that his security business was picking up and that he was looking for someone to assist with handling clients. The next afternoon, Maria Hill appeared on his doorstep, resume in hand. It had taken James exactly thirty seconds to realize that Nick's idea of _help_ was not a receptionist, but a behavioral profiler looking to get out of the FBI and into private consulting.

What the hell, James had thought, and hired Maria on. He'd thought it was going to be a disaster, having to work with someone else, but Maria spoke the language of local law enforcement, could decipher neighborhood crime trends, and had an uncanny knack of knowing which of their prospective clients to turn away for _Reasons_.

About a year after the start of the partnership, they had been in Hartford on a case when James finally asked Maria what had made her quit her rising career with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico to go into consulting in New York. She hadn't answered for a few hours, but eventually, as they were getting ready to drive back into town (separate cars; Maria always insisted on separate cars), she'd looked at him over the top of her Prius and said, "This job isn't so bad. When I wake up in the morning, I know I'm not going to be seeing any dead kids that day."

James had understood.

Now, Maria dealt with the behavioral side, James dealt with the construction teams and kept the clients happy, and that was how they worked.

It didn't hurt that Natasha simply _adored_ Maria. For her part, Maria tolerated Natasha's adoration while using the girl to (gently) manipulate James into doing things Maria's way.

James didn't mind. Too much.

After he showered and dried off, James strapped on his metal arm and went to the back section of his closet where he hid his work suits. They had been a substantial investment, each of them tailored to allow free movement of his prosthetic arm. At least, that was his rational for the suits; Maria had pointed out (somewhat archly) that the trousers were perfectly made to show off his ass.

"Tastefully," she had clarified when James had glared at her. "They show off your ass _tastefully_."

He had told Maria he wasn't planning on being the eye candy of the outfit, and she'd said that she hadn't spent eight years with the FBI to be his Girl Friday. They'd left it at that, but Maria wasn't above dressing James up and sending him out to charm the clients out of bad decisions.

After a minute's consideration, James pulled out his grey suit with the dark blue tie. In spite of his long hair, the suit made him look respectable and a few years older than he was; but just a hint playful. So Maria said.

Before he left the room, he shoved a hair elastic into his suit pocket. He'd put his hair into a ponytail once it had a chance to dry.

Downstairs, Natasha was sitting on Maria's lap, watching in rapture as Maria wrote things on the pages of the friendship notebook. "Come on, Natasha, we have to get you to school. Go get your backpack," James said.

Glowering at James, Natasha slid to the ground and marched grimly out of the kitchen.

"What the hell was that?"

"She's angry because you're not at her beck and call," Maria said, rising to her feet. "It's a normal part of childhood development."

"Hey, I gotta work for a living to put food on the table for her."

"You've been her entire world for her entire life," Maria pointed out as she undid the tie from around James' neck to redo the knot. "She's out there making connections with her peers and other adult role models. It's all new and scary and you're the only safe thing for her to test her boundaries on."

"I didn't pull this shit with my old man."

Maria's eyebrow went up in eloquent silence. She smoothed the tie down on James' chest. "Make sure to smile at Mrs. Ryder," she said instead. "Tell her stories about Natasha. Show baby pictures."

"Why?" James asked as he buttoned his suit jacket.

"Because then hopefully she'll tell you if she's worried about her grandchildren's safety." Maria went into the living room to retrieve her briefcase. "If it's the grandkids, we'll pull an Italian Villa on them. If it's her husband's safety, then we'll go with the Monaco."

"What if it's her own safety?"

"You mean the husband?" Maria did not appear surprised by James' train of thought. "If she's worried about her husband being the threat, we can handle that, but I don't think that's it. Check into that, though." Maria walked over to unlock the inside door. "Just get her talking. We have to start there."

"I will." James shoved his metal hand into his trousers pocket. "Take care of yourself at the coroner's office."

Maria gave a brief smile, then called, "Natasha, I'm leaving!"

A thud from the floor above, then Natasha ran down the stairs, her backpack bouncing as she dashed over to Maria and flung her arms around the woman's legs. "Bye Maria!"

Maria patted Natasha's head and pried her way out of the child's embrace. "Have a good day at school, squirt."

"I will!" As Maria headed out the doors, Natasha ran to the front window and waved at Maria until the woman was in her car and gone.

While Natasha was occupied, James slipped into his office at the back of the house. He made sure he had his files and measuring tape tucked into the case, added a few various items that might come in handy on the drive, then closed the case and headed out into the living room.

Natasha was still plastered against the front window, staring out into the street below. "Come on, Nat, we have to get going."

Reluctantly, Natasha climbed down from the windowsill.

"Do you have everything you need?"

A glaring silence.

By now, James had had enough. "Natasha, I need you to answer me. Do you have everything you need for school?"

"Yes."

Great. James went into the kitchen to grab a protein bar for the car. On the way back to the living room, he spotted Natasha's friendship notebook, and took it with him.

The drive to school was painful. Natasha was still fuming and James was irritated enough about having to spend five hours in traffic that he didn't even try to engage with her. Parking around the school was tight, but James squeezed into a spot and got Natasha up the street and into the building before the bell rang.

"Hold on," he said, as Natasha seemed ready to walk off to class without so much as a goodbye. "You forgot this at home." He handed her the notebook.

Natasha grabbed the book and cradled it to her chest. "You're going away."

James went down on one knee and pulled Natasha closer to him. "Sweetie, I have to go to do some work. It's very important."

"But it's Monday!" Natasha said. "On Monday after school we go to the park and I get to swing then we go home! If I have to stay in after-school club we can't go to the park!"

"We can go to the park on Wednesday before art class."

"It's not the same!"

James shushed her. "Natasha, I have to go. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Natasha's shoulders slumped. James kissed the top of her head, then stood creakily.

"I love you," James said, but Natasha just turned and walked down the hall to her classroom.

Screw this 'normal part of childhood development,' James thought as he walked to the administration office to sign Natasha up for the drop-in after-school care. When he got back from the Hamptons, he and Natasha were going to have a long talk about expectations and responsibilities.

But first, work.

* * *

Hours later, as James was stuck in traffic on the Expressway on his return to the city, his phone rang.

James answered the phone with a touch on his earpiece. "Winterhill Security Consulting," he said automatically. "James Barnes speaking."

"Hey," came a warm and familiar voice. "It's Steve."

James' irritation at the traffic melted away at hearing Steve's voice. "Hey."

"I'm not catching you at a bad time, am I?"

James let his head fall back against the headrest. "Nah, just stuck in traffic."

"The perils of city life," Steve said, and it sounded like he was smiling. James could just picture that smile on Steve's handsome face, small and private, just something between them.

Swallowing hard, James asked, "Anything I can do for you? Clint didn't leave anything at the house yesterday, did he?"

"No, we got everything. I was thinking, you know, that yesterday went really well."

"It did," James agreed. "Natasha's been talking about Clint non-stop since you guys left."

Steve chuckled. "Same with Clint," he said. "He's not usually much of a talker, but he keeps bringing up things he'd like to do together with Natasha."

James found himself smiling. "Peas in a pod," he quipped. "Nat's got a whole notebook dedicated to her plans of things to do next."

"Speaking of which, that's the reason I called," said Steve. "I don't know what your afternoons look like, but Clint wanted me to ask if he and Natasha can play some day after school."

"Yeah, of course," James said, feeling a little ashamed at how much he wanted to see Steve again. This was about the kids, he reminded himself sternly. "Well, Nat's in dance class on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Clint has swimming on Mondays and soccer on Thursdays. How's Wednesday?"

James accelerated as the traffic began to pick up. "We have art class on Wednesdays until the end of May."

"And Clint has archery on Fridays," Steve said. "What the hell, do you remember being so booked up when you were five?"

"Nope." James glanced over his shoulder and quickly changed lanes. "If you're free on Sunday, do you want to come over again for lunch?"

"It's a date," Steve said, and a shiver ran down James' spine. It was so goddamned unfair in the grand scheme of things that this man was _straight_. "Although I don't know how Clint will last that long."

"Does it have to be right after school?" James asked. "Wednesday's a write off, but Nat's dance class is done around six."

"Huh. Let me check." There was a moment's pause. "I can move things on Thursday if you want to get together for dinner or something? There's this little Italian place near the soccer field that Clint loves."

"Perfect. I'll tell Natasha, she'll be so excited."

"Good." There was silence for a moment, long enough for James to wonder if it was his turn to speak. Then Steve said, "I'm really glad the kids get along so well. Clint… well, sometimes Clint has a hard time making friends."

"He's a good kid," James said. "He seems pretty easygoing."

"He is, but…" Steve sighed. "Sometimes kids think he's weird."

"Weird? Steve, my kid introduced us to her spider collection yesterday."

Steve laughed. "Then I'm in good company." He hesitated. "It's just... Clint doesn't really care what other kids are doing, most times." It sounded like a confession. "He'll spend time by himself and he's perfectly happy like that. And he always has to wear something purple, and half the time he's got those sunglasses on…"

"Is he happy like that?"

"Yeah. He's just fine and I don't want to make him think he's doing anything wrong."

James remembered back to a piece of parenting advice given to him by Nick Fury when the man dropped in for a visit on Natasha's third birthday. "Steve, kids are tiny assholes. They aren't socialized enough to not be horrible to the people around them."

"I just want him to make friends. I know how hard it was for me."

"You had me, didn't you?" James said, the words slipping out before he could remember that for twenty years, Steve didn't have him at all.

But Steve was already speaking, "I did," he said, and James must have been imagining things, because he thought Steve sounded almost wistful. "Look, sorry to do this, but I have a meeting with R&D I need to get to. See you on Thursday?"

"You bet," James said, his heart pounding in his throat. Quickly, he pulled his thoughts back together. "Hey, Steve, wait a sec."

"Yeah, Bucky?"

"Clint's going to be fine. He's got you."

"Thanks," Steve said, his voice quiet. He cleared his throat. "So, Thursday."

"See you then," James said, and quickly hung up before he said something stupid.

This wasn't a date, he told himself again. This was about the children getting together and having kid-time together. At a restaurant. With food. Like a date.

"I am so fucked," James said aloud.

As he was alone in the car, there was no one to agree with him.

* * *

Traffic cleared up a little, and James made it home just a few minutes after six. He ducked into the house to drop off his briefcase, then quickly drove to Natasha's school.

At St. Ursula's, after-school childcare was held in the library. Some of the older children were piled up in front of the computers, while a handful of younger ones sat in a circle around the instructor, who was reading aloud.

It took James a moment to locate his own child. Natasha sat in a big armchair by the window, a picture book held open on her lap.

James signed in at the door, then quietly made his way across the library. Natasha didn't look up, so James hitched up his trousers and sat on the window ledge next to her. "Good story?"

Natasha's head whipped around. She pushed the book out of the way and crawled over the chair arm and into James' lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey," James said, rubbing Natasha's back. The girl responded by squeezing his neck tighter. "I missed you today."

Natasha breathed noisily in his ear, not quite in tears, but she was definitely worked up about something.

"I thought to myself, I sure hope Natasha is having a good day at school, and I can't wait to see her tonight."

"You took forever," Natasha said, voice close to a wail. James shushed her. "I thought you weren't ever going to come get me."

"Hey." James shifted Natasha around so she was sitting on his knee. "When have I ever not come to get you?"

"Never," Natasha admitted, rubbing her eyes. "But you might forget one day."

"That's never going to happen." James shifted Natasha to his right hip and stood, reaching out his metal hand for her backpack. "I'm always going to come get you, do you understand?"

More noisy breathing in his ear, then James felt Natasha nod against his cheek.

"How about we go home and order some takeout for dinner, huh?"

Another nod. "Can we get noodles?"

"We can get noodles." James kissed Natasha's hair, wondering what had happened, why she was suddenly questioning that he might not come for her, then decided that it would be better to get her home and let her calm down before asking. "You ready to go?"

Natasha gripped the back of his neck, her sharp fingernails digging into his skin. "Uh huh." She clung to him all the way to the car, but at least her grip slackened once they were outside.

"Your backpack sure is heavy," James said conversationally as he reached the car. "Did you learn anything fun today?"

"We learned how plants grow," Natasha said, letting go of his neck to climb into the jeep. She reached for her seatbelt, helping James fit it into the buckle. "And Mrs. Singh said we have to grow a bean at home so we can see it."

"That sounds interesting." James double-checked that Natasha was secure, then shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat. "Can we work on that together?"

"Maybe."

James had to concentrate on turning the jeep into the evening traffic, and around an accident that was blocking up most of the main road. Natasha was quiet in the back, so James let her be until they were home.

Once they were inside and James had called in their takeout order, he sat Natasha on the couch and settled himself on the coffee table. "Are you still mad at me?" he asked.

Natasha ducked her head, not making eye contact as she played with the couch cushions. "I don't know."

"I don't want you to be mad at me," James went on. There were reams of parenting blog posts about this sort of thing, but James was at a loss as to what to say. "But I still have to go to work so we have money for things."

Natasha squirmed off the couch, but James caught her and made her stand still. She glowered at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you have fun without me?" she asked suspiciously.

In spite of himself, James had to suppress a smile. "I did not have fun," he told her solemnly. "I had to drive a long, long way, and then I had to talk to a lady about serious things."

Natasha's glower faded, to be replaced by an expression of curiosity. "Where did you go?"

They went and got the big atlas from James' office, and James showed Natasha the route he had taken that morning.

"That is far away," Natasha agreed after a while. "It's by all that water."

"Yup," James said, getting Natasha to her feet. "Come on, we need to go pick up dinner."

Natasha made no fuss about putting her shoes back on, and held James' hand as they walked the four blocks to the restaurant. In spite of her uncertainty about any lingering anger toward her father, Natasha was her usual chatty self, pointing out things that interested her, and answering James' questions about her school day.

Half an hour later, they were back home and eating at the kitchen table. While Natasha was engrossed in her noodles, James said, "I talked to Steve today. He and Clint are going to come over on Sunday for lunch again."

Natasha abandoned her food. "They are?" she demanded, her eyes wide. "Can I show Clint my notebook?"

"Of course you can," James said, pulling her plate back from the table edge. "And do you know what else?"

"What?"

"We thought that since Sunday is so far away, that we should get together on Thursday after dance class and go for dinner, just the four of us."

Natasha clasped her hands together in joy. "Oh, Daddy, really?" she squealed.

"Yup."

"How long away is that?"

"Go get the calendar." Natasha, dinner forgotten, dashed over to the fridge and returned with the family calendar. James pointed at the current date. "That's today, that's Monday. Can you tell how many days away is Thursday?"

With his help in sounding out the words, Natasha counted through to Thursday. "Four days!" she said in dismay. "How can I wait?"

After much discussion, James and Natasha decided that, in order for Natasha to be able to wait until her next play date with Clint, she was going to send Clint a letter like people did in stories.

The letter, as dictated by Natasha to her father, read:

> Hi Clint.
> 
> I will see you on Thursday. Today is Monday. On Tuesday I go to dance class. I like dance class because I wear black dance shoes and I dance. On Wednesday Daddy and me go to art class. I like art class because I can paint with a big brush. My favorite paint is red paint because it is pretty.
> 
> On Thursday I go to dance class again and I will see you and we will eat spaghetti and be friends. I like you because you are my friend.

After having looked over James' hand writing, Natasha laboriously wrote her own name at the bottom of the page.

Finally, after promising three times to send the letter to Clint via his father, James convinced Natasha to finish her dinner.

* * *

The night continued. As it was Monday, it was bath night, and Natasha grudgingly allowed her hair to be washed. After bath time it was time to get ready for bed, which involved rather a lot of preparation for someone so small. First Natasha had to brush her teeth, then carry her own glass of water into her bedroom. Wearing her Monday-night pajamas (pink and green striped ones), she deigned to be carried over to the big armchair in the corner of her room, and waited patiently for her father to open up their nightly story.

They were in the middle of a Pippi Longstocking book, one of the recommendations from the school librarian (whom James was convinced was trolling the entire class of parents.) But Natasha reveled in stories of children who knew better than grown-ups, so James went along with it, deciding to spend his parental energies on other things.

That night, however, Natasha seemed distracted. After two chapters, James put the book down and said, "Do you want me to read something else, or are you ready to sleep?"

Natasha rested her cheek on James' chest, staring up at him. "Are you a soldier?" she asked after a moment.

"I used to be," James said, not sure where this was coming from. "A long time ago, before I met you, I was in the Army. But not anymore."

Natasha rubbed her ear. "Mila said that anyone who's a soldier goes away and dies and doesn't come back."

James let out his breath. Mila was one of the girls in Natasha's kindergarten class. "Why did she say that?"

Natasha shrugged, and after a minute said, "Ricky has a big brother and he joined the Army and Mila said that he's going to get hurt and die."

James pressed his lips together, a little surprised at his anger over the thoughtless words of a child. "Nat, not everyone who becomes a soldier gets hurt."

"You did."

And there it was, the heart of the matter. James reached for Natasha's hand with his left one, the metal fingers curling to let the little girl take hold. "You're right," he said quietly. Natasha stared at him. "I was a soldier in the Army, and I did get hurt."

"When a bomb exploded," Natasha said solemnly.

"Yes, a bomb exploded and I got hurt." He wiggled his metal fingers. "But you know what? Nowadays, if someone gets hurt, they go to a hospital and get better there. Like I did."

"And me too," Natasha said. "I went to a hospital, you told me."

"You did." James let Natasha cuddle closer to his side. "You were a very little baby and you got very sick, and Fury took you to a hospital and that is where I met you and decided to be your daddy."

It was an old story for Natasha, one he'd told her after she first asked why she didn't have a mommy. She knew she was adopted, although James wasn't really sure how well she understood the concept.

"And now, you use your inhaler and I take you to Dr. Bennett every six months and she makes sure that you're healthy," James went on.

"And you go to the doctor about your arm," Natasha said. She seemed to be calming down, settling back into familiar stories. "And they make you do exercises and you make funny faces."

"I sure do." James picked Natasha up and carried her over to her little bed. "But I'm not a soldier any more, and I will come and get you every day from school." He helped Natasha climb under the covers, then pulled them up to her chin.

She pushed them down again and looked at him, a frown on her face. "What if there is a blizzard and there's too much snow?"

"Then I will get snowshoes and come get you." James placed Natasha's favorite teddy bear next to her.

"What if it's sandy and there's too much water?"

It took James a moment to make the mental jump to the hurricane that had struck the city two years before. He hadn't realized that Natasha remembered that. "Then I will find a canoe and come get you."

"What if the zoo breaks open and there are snakes and crocodiles everywhere?"

"Then I will string a rope from building to building and come get you." James bent over to kiss Natasha on the forehead. "Okay?"

"Okay." Natasha clutched at the bed sheet. "I want another story."

There were a hundred things James needed to be doing, but he pushed all that to the back of his mind as he said, "Okay, just one more."

Three stories and forty-five minutes later, Natasha had finally nodded off. James turned off her light and adjusted the blanket, then tiptoed out of the room and closed the bedroom door. In the hallway, he stopped to rest his forehead against the wall, letting the strain of the last hour slide off his bones.

He knew Natasha was growing up, and that involved learning about adult concepts such as injury and death, but hearing his baby girl talking about dying made his heart ache. He wanted to protect her from everything, but he knew that was not only impossible, but would be cheating her of a real chance at life.

Still. Knowing his daughter was growing up was one thing. Actually living with it was hard.

Resisting the urge to peek into Natasha's room one last time (because the light would just wake her), James went downstairs to his office. After a full day of wearing the metal arm, the harness was pinching painfully at his body, but he had emails to write, and while the metal hand wasn't as dexterous as he would have liked he could still use the fingers to poke at certain keys.

James turned on his computer. While the machine was booting up, he mentally composed an email to Natasha's teacher about how _maybe certain children shouldn't go around telling other children that their older brothers were going off to die as soldiers_. By the time he had his email program open, however, he'd calmed down, and typed out a short email suggesting that if the woman wanted, James could recommend a few folks he knew through the VA who had experience in talking to children about military life. He sure as hell wasn't about to volunteer to do it himself.

After the email was sent, James called Maria. They spent the next hour discussing his trip to the Hamptons to see Mrs. Ryder (long and tedious), the real source of the woman's discomfort (her daughter's ex-husband had been saying things that Mrs. Ryder had construed as threats against the grandchildren), what the construction of the house could reasonably handle (interior reinforced locking doors, a direct connection to a reputable alarm monitoring company set up on an independent power source, some possible on-site security) and some suggestions from Maria's contacts about lawyers and counselors to work on the situation before anyone got hurt.

As usual at this time of night, Maria was all business, so James bit back his questions about five-year-old girls and their perception of death and told Maria he'd see her on Wednesday at their meeting in the city.

After he had hung up, James stood and straightened his back. His long day in the car had left him stiff and sore. He had a standing appointment with his physiotherapist on Tuesday mornings, which would offer him a whole different kind of pain.

Leaving his computer running, James went for a walk around the house to get some of the cobwebs out of his brain. He went to the basement and checked to make sure all the doors and windows were secure, then he climbed up the stairs to the third floor and went into every empty room, walking through the rooms to make sure that every window was still firmly nailed shut.

He and Natasha didn't need the third floor; the rest of the house was big enough for them. So far, Natasha had been averse to coming up here on her own; she'd claimed once that the rooms were too empty. She preferred to play in the living room, where she could keep an eye on James in his office or the kitchen.

Dust lay in a thin layer on the floor, hardly disturbed as James moved through the rooms. He should get someone to come over, he thought, clean the place up a little. Natasha could have a play room up here, and maybe the big room at the back of the house could be an entertainment room.

Maybe if there had been more than just the two of them.

Oh well. They were their own little family, him and Natasha. Small but still good.

Back on the main floor, James went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As he drank, he picked up the piece of paper on which he had written Natasha's letter to Clint. Natasha had inscribed her name in red and purple marker, each letter formed so carefully.

James carried the letter into his office. He took a quick snapshot of the paper with his phone, then emailed it to himself so he could figure out how to get it to Steve.

He picked up the paper again and read Natasha's words. _I like you because you are my friend_ ¸ she had said. How long had it been since James had even considered making friends with someone? For the last five years, he'd told himself that he was too busy with Natasha and with his work. Before that, before the explosion that had taken his arm, he had spent seven years in the Rangers keeping his head down, doing his job, making a difference.

He'd learned very early on in basic training that there were expectations in place for a 'proper' enlisted soldier – not too much of a jackass, dedicated to the job, able to take a joke, and above all, straight enough to pass.

All things considered, it hadn't been too hard; he'd made it through public high school in Brooklyn with the athletics crowd, pretending to be straight as an arrow. He had a whole grab-bag of tricks; vague stories of some girl back home, agreeing easily with dirty jokes, peeling off from the group early to avoid the boys trying to set him up with random girls in bars.

He'd excelled in basic and had volunteered for Ranger training; it had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his life, both physically and mentally, but at least he was too exhausted at the end of every day to be too worked up over pretending to be something he was not.

And if he had no real friends, he had a job to do, and damned if he'd do anything to mess up his career.

It was lonely, but after Steve Rogers fell out of his life, James was used to lonely.

Outside, a motorcycle drove by. James reached for his phone, sent a quick text to Steve asking for his email (careful to add that Natasha had something for Clint), then shut down his computer and went upstairs.

He had made his life. He had a job, a home, money in the bank. Natasha was his family now, and James didn't need anyone or anything else.

As he slipped into bed, James closed his eyes, focusing on the aches in his body to push away the icy knot of loneliness in his gut. He didn't have time for anything else; not friendship, not love.

He had made this life of his, and there wasn't room for anything else anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added chapter bonus: [Bucky in a grey suit](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/96006548307/permissiontogoafterhim-random-edit-136-137).


	4. Giant Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Giant Steps by John Coltrane](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6NCx0wcrC4)

* * *

Tuesday dawned with Natasha climbing onto James' bed to ask him if it was Thursday. After the usual morning feeding and watering routine, James walked Natasha the ten blocks to her school, answering her questions the whole time, then headed to catch the subway into Manhattan.

While he was waiting for his connecting train, his phone vibrated with a new text from Steve, containing his email address. James stared at the screen so long that he nearly missed the train, then, annoyed at himself, forwarded the photo of Natasha's letter without any additional comment.

The train was packed and he ended up standing, right hand gripping the strap, metal left arm hanging loose at his side as he watched the oblivious strangers on the train.

The hospital was a few blocks from the nearest subway station, so after James climbed to the surface of the New York streets he hunched his shoulders against the unseasonable chill in the air and started walking.

A few blocks in, James felt his phone buzz. _That is too cute_ , read Steve's text. _I'll show Clint tonite. Maybe he will want to send a letter to Natasha too._

James moved with the flow of pedestrian traffic, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind, not on the sidewalk, not along the long ramp leading up into the hospital, not into the lobby.

James was early for his appointment, so he loitered in the hospital coffee shop for a while, sipping at a cup of burnt coffee as he stared at his phone, touching the screen every so often to keep Steve's message illuminated. He wanted to say something, to keep Steve talking, but what could he say?

After a while, James tapped out, _dont wory about clint writng back. nat can get intense somtmes and kids can gt overwhelmd._

 _Not a problem_ , came Steve's immediate response. _I'll see what Clint says. What are you doing today? I'm stuck at my desk all day :(_

_in the city 4 an appt_

Speaking of which, James glanced at the time. He had to get moving. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he stood and made his way out of the little café.

At the elevator, he checked his phone once more, but Steve had not texted back. If Steve was at work, James reasoned, then he must have a million other things to do. Turning the phone to silent, James stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the basement.

Physiotherapy was the part of the week that James liked the least. Since he had gotten his new arm, he'd had to go in every week for monitoring and testing. The good news was that his muscle tone on the left side had improved dramatically with the new arm, even if every weekly session with the doctors left him a quivering, shaking wreck.

And yet he went, because he needed to be functional, he needed to be strong. He had a little girl who depended on him to keep her happy and safe, and to do those things he needed to be at the peak of whatever physical conditioning was left to him.

He needed to be strong.

The arm itself was a miracle. A prototype developed by Stark Industries, the arm was essentially a fully functional robot, responding to nerve impulses picked up by implants in his left arm, translating those impulses to movement. The prototype was at least three years away from market, James had been told, but they needed human subjects who were willing to test out the prototypes in every-day settings.

They'd come at James through the VA, looking for soldiers who had been injured in the line of duty. There had been some noise about breaking into emerging markets, but James didn't give a fuck about Stark's rationale – all he knew was that he got an arm that let him take better care of his daughter, one that could hold her hand while they walked, help her zip up her coat and brush her hair and all those little things he hadn't been able to do before.

So they gave him a two-million-dollar prosthetic prototype for free, injected the tiny implants into his left arm, and all James had to do was go in once a week for testing.

This week was much the same as others. While James went through his physio routine with the medical staff, the scientists from Stark Industries downloaded data from the arm and did minor repairs. James went about the routine with determination, pushing his body to take on more and more. If he had completed Ranger training with distinction, he could lift five more pounds in the basement of Bellevue.

At the end of the session, his doctor handed him a sheet of new exercises to do at home, suggested (for the third time) that he should add running outside to his weekly exercise routines, then slapped him on the back and sent him over to strap on his arm.

After he changed back into his street clothes and left the building on unsteady legs, James made his way over to one of the small parks around the hospital. The bright spring day had drawn a small crowd to the open space in spite of the cold, but James managed to find an empty space on a bench on which he could sit and just breathe for a few minutes.

Eventually, he reached for his phone. Turning the ringer back on, he saw that he had three new text messages: one from Maria, two from Steve. James read the message from Maria first; it had some information concerning their meeting the next day, and James filed that one away absently to deal with when he got home.

The first text from Steve had come just a few moments after James had put his phone away. _Hey if you're in town today do you want to have lunch?_

Then, twenty minutes later, _or not_

James stared at the words. What would that even be like, having lunch with Steve? No kids to run after, no little hands to keep out of the soup, no questions about everything under the sun, just James and Steve. They could sit across the table from each other, talking about Steve's job and his life since he'd moved to New Jersey… and then, Steve would ask about James' arm.

James shook himself out of his fantasy. Steve wasn't interested in him, and this dinner on Thursday was not a date. This was about the children, Clint and Natasha's friendship. It wasn't about anything James wanted. James and Steve had been friends when they were kids, that was all. Now, Steve was a fundraiser, while James told rich people how to build their houses. The only thing they had in common were the kids.

James' thumb hovered over the phone's touchscreen. He didn't want Steve to think he was weirded out by the question. He could just say he turned his phone off and didn't see the message in time. But that would be almost too much of a lie, and James and Steve didn't lie to each other.

Quickly, before James lost his nerve, he touched his phone screen to call Steve.

Steve answered on the third ring. "Hey."

"Hey." James ran his tongue over dry lips. "I got your text."

"Yeah. Sorry about that, I thought-"

"I was in physio," James interrupted. "My arm, I gotta go in every week, you know. I just got out."

"Oh." A pause, then, "No, yeah, I get that. I didn't want you to think that I was… Yeah."

"No, it's fine." James rested his metal hand on his knee, moving the fingers slowly just to make sure he could. "Physio sucks ass. I'm never any good company after that."

"Do you ever have to take Natasha with you?" Steve asked, sounding honestly curious.

"Not when I can get away from it," James replied. "I only started going every week this past year, with the new arm. Before that it was once a month." James took a deep breath. "Look, what I said on Sunday, about the arm…"

"It's okay," Steve said quickly.

"No, it's… I don't talk about it." James flattened his metal hand against his leg. "Like, to anyone."

"What did you tell Natasha?"

"She's always known me like this." James sat back. "I had to learn how to take care of a baby with one arm, that was just the way it was. You ever tried to change a diaper one-handed?"

Steve laughed, a quiet chuckle, and some of the tension in James' shoulders eased. "I had a hard enough of a time with Clint, just me," Steve said.

"It may take me and Natasha longer to get stuff done, but we do it," James said. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I wasn't ignoring you."

"I understand." Steve's voice was warm and low, almost intimate, and James wondered what it would be like to have this conversation in person. Just him and Steve, sitting together, talking. "Maybe we can get together for lunch another day."

"I'd like that," James said, breathing out slowly. He really needed to _stop_ falling for straight boys. "I guess I'll see you on Thursday."

"I can't wait," Steve said.

James managed to end the call without saying anything embarrassing. Damn, but it was seductive, talking to Steve on the phone, his voice warm and happy in James' ear. If James had been the kind of person to delude himself, he would almost be able to imagine what it would be like if they were actually dating; sitting next to Steve on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, talking about the kids, about their day. Maybe Steve would put his arm around James' shoulders. Maybe they could send the kids to bed early and sit on the back step, drinking coffee and holding hands as the sun set over Brooklyn.

And, of course, James was not averse to the idea of sex with Steve Rogers, not in the slightest. Steve had grown up into a fine specimen of a human being, after all. James could just imagine Steve laid out on his bed, wearing only a smile as he waited for James…

But James was not going to lie to himself. Guys who looked like Steve Rogers did not settle for disfigured ex-Army vets.

He put his phone into his pocket and stood. Pining after Steve Rogers was a pleasant fantasy, nothing more.

Still, after all James had been through in life, he was allowed to have a brief moment of wishing for the things he could never have.

* * *

When James arrived at the school, the first words out of Natasha's mouth were, "Did Clint like my letter?"

They had a long talk on the way home about the virtues of _patience_. Once inside, Natasha ran upstairs to get into her dance clothes while James made her a snack, and then they sat down together to work on Natasha's homework sheets.

Then James and Natasha walked the mile to the dance school, Natasha carefully carrying the bag that held her prized dance shoes. James left her in class with the customary _pay attention to Madame_ and hurried to escape the horde of mothers. He headed to his usual coffee shop, ordered his usual black coffee, and was just settling down when his phone buzzed with an email from Steve.

_Clint loved Natasha's letter and wanted to send one of his own. Can you show this to Natasha?_

_k_ , James sent back. He opened the attached photograph.

 

> Hello Natasha. My daddy read me your letter. It was a nice letter. No one ever wrote to me a letter before.
> 
> Daddy says I will see you Thursday. That is two more days. There is Tuesday and Wednesday and then it is Thursday. Friday is my favorite day because I go to my arrow class and shoot arrows with my bow. Thursday is now also my favorite day because I will see you.
> 
> I like to be friends. My daddy and your daddy were **_best friends_** when they were kids and now we are best friends.
> 
> I will see you on Thursday. You can have some of my spaghetti.

Beside the words, which were written in Steve's precise printing, was a drawing of a bird that looked quite advanced for a boy of Clint's age.

At the very bottom of the page, Clint had written his first name in big block letters. Under that, Steve had written _Clint Francis Barton Carter Rogers_.

James read the name a second time. Poor kid, saddled with a multi-barreled moniker like that. Still, what could you expect from a guy named Steven Grant.

* * *

Because James was a man who knew his own limitations, he waited until they were home and had finished dinner before he showed Natasha the letter.

It went about as James expected. Natasha was _ecstatic_.

At her insistence, he printed out a copy of Clint's letter for Natasha to hug, literally, to her chest. She carried that letter with her everywhere, even into the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed.

In lieu of bedtime stories that evening, Natasha and James discussed the nature of friendship. She seemed to have forgotten the Monday evening angst of soldiers and hospitals, and James was only too happy to let that subject lie.

When he tucked her in and turned off the light, Natasha placed the print-out of Clint's letter under her pillow "so it would be safe all night."

* * *

Wednesday was a busy morning. James dropped Natasha off at school early, swung past the dry cleaners to hand over his dress shirts, then drove into the city. The meeting with clients took up most of the day and it was nearly three o'clock when James and Maria escaped into the street, wrung out but inches away from securing a multi-million dollar contract.

As usual, James got stuck in traffic trying to get from Manhattan to Brooklyn in the middle of rush hour, and he got to Natasha's school in the nick of time to pick up Natasha for the parent and child art class at the community centre.

James was one of only two fathers in the room; the other one (Bill; they'd introduced themselves on the first day) was too busy corralling his twin boys to pay attention to anyone else. The others (three mothers, five nannies and one bored teenage sister) tended to give James a wide berth, especially after James had shown up for the second class without his arm (repairs). James tried to not let it bother him. He wouldn't have minded the kids' questions, but it gave him enough space to focus on Natasha.

Today was painting-on-canvas day, which caused a flurry of excitement. James went where Natasha ordered him to go, helping her pick out the best canvas from a stack of identical ones, then to get her favorite brush, then to squirt acrylic paint into the little cups for her.

Then, with great solemnity, Natasha pulled the battered print-out of Clint's letter from her backpack and set it next to the canvas. "I'm going to paint a bird," she informed her father. "For Clint. Because he's my best friend."

"That is a nice thing to do," James said, because he suspected that teasing Natasha about her new friend would be the path to family strife. "What kind of bird are you going to draw?"

"The best one." Natasha picked up the brush in her little fingers and held it to the canvas. "Mine will be the best because it will be _purple_ and it will _fly_."

James helped Natasha as much as he could without getting paint on his expensive suit. By the end of the class the small canvas was covered with a shape that was identifiably a bird, a bright purple bird with black stripes.

"What's that?" James asked, pointing at a series of lines at the corner of the bird's wing.

"That's the bird's bow and arrow," Natasha said as she painted a shaky 'N' in the bottom corner of the canvas. "Because he shoots arrows out of the sky when he flies."

James took a photo of the canvas while Natasha returned her paint cups. _Warning this is comng to yuour house tomorrow,_ he emailed Steve.

 _I love it,_ Steve texted back as James and Natasha were walking out of the community centre, Natasha's drying canvas held carefully in James' metal fingers. _What is it?_

James had to wait to respond until after they got home, where Natasha placed the still-sticky canvas on the back step to dry. _A bird tht flies and dos archery. I think its a surpise 4 clint._

 _My lips are sealed,_ was Steve's reply, and that left James imagining Steve's face and his lips and also maybe his tongue, and Natasha ended up having to slap James' leg to get his attention.

"Daddy, listen to me!" Natasha glared up at him. "I'm _so hungry_."

James tossed his phone onto the countertop. Steve would have to wait.

* * *

All in all, James thought that he escaped lightly that evening from the barrage of 'Clint is my best friend.' Natasha went to bed without argument, and there were no interruptions to the bedtime story about Clint or friendship or their plans for the next day.

So James was not expecting to be woken from a sound sleep by someone shaking his foot. "Daddy, I'm ready to go."

The clock read nine minutes after two in the morning as James reached for the lamp. Little Natasha was standing at his bedside, fully dressed in her school uniform, holding the small bag with her dance shoes in it.

For a moment, all James could do was stare. "Go where?" he finally asked, trying to blink himself awake.

"Spaghetti dinner with Clint."

It took half an hour to get Natasha changed back into her pajamas and talked out of leaving the house in the middle of the night 'so I can get there on time'. James promised twice to make sure Natasha didn't oversleep, and turned off the light with the girl still wide awake in her bed, clutching her teddy bear.

James didn't even get back under the covers, just fell down on his bed and passed out.

When the alarm went off properly at six, James hauled himself out of bed and downstairs to make coffee. Thus properly fortified, he went to wake Natasha. Her late night adventure had left her cranky, and James had to deal with getting a cantankerous kindergartener to school.

He spent the morning at a job site on Staten Island, the afternoon going over blueprints with Maria, and was back in Brooklyn in time to get Natasha at school and take her home to get ready for dance class.

There was just one problem.

Natasha didn't want to go.

"What if he doesn't like me any more?" Natasha asked, eyes wide as she clutched at her dance leotard.

James, sitting on Natasha's bedroom floor, let out a sigh. "Sweet pea, he still likes you. Can you _please_ change into your dance clothes? We're going to be late."

"What if he forgots who I am?" Natasha asked, handing James the leotard so she could change out of her school uniform.

"Natasha, Clint is no more going to forget who you are than you are going to forget who he is. Come _on_."

In spite of James' best efforts, they were late leaving the house, as James had to run back inside to get the painting from the back step, and then Natasha's friendship notebook. They got to dance class five minutes late and Madame's glare was strong enough to strip paint off the walls.

James couldn't muster the energy to go for coffee, so he just collapsed on a chair in the lobby and pulled out his phone. _I s2g this dinnr cannot happen soon enuf,_ he texted to Steve.

_I hear you. Clint got a time out at soccer practice for talking too much about Natasha and not listening to the coach :(_

James frowned at the screen. _They gave him a timout 4 havng a friend? Hes 5!!! they suk!_

 _Luckily he doesn't care. He's on the bench now clapping on his teammates._ A pause, then, _I don't think he likes soccer. I was hoping he'd enjoy the running around, but he doesn't get the team part._

_I say agin, 5!?!_

_I hear you. Hey he's off the bench I gotta watch see you at 630_. And with that, Steve was gone.

James put his phone into his pocket and let his head fall back against the wall. Forty minutes left in dance class.

* * *

On the sidewalk outside the restaurant, James knelt down to give Natasha one last look-over. Her hair was still braided from the school day, but she had changed into one of her favorite dresses (one that would thankfully not show any tomato sauce stains). She had her favorite tote bag over her arm, which contained her friendship notebook, her painting, her letter to Clint and the print-out of his letter, as well as whatever crayons she could salvage on short-notice.

"Remember what we talked about," James said as he straightened the bow on her dress.

"This is a grown-up establishment," Natasha said with careful enunciation. "I have to use my inside voice and I cannot run around."

"And why is that?"

"Because I am a well-behaved little girl."

"Exactly." He held up his metal hand for a high-five. "Let's go see Clint."

Natasha held her father's hand tight as they entered the restaurant. James spotted Steve at once, at a table in the back, and led Natasha towards it.

Steve, who had been talking quietly with Clint, glanced up, and his sudden smile took James' breath away. "Glad you could make it," Steve said.

"Are you kidding? This is all I've been hearing about for days," James said, smiling back at Steve like an idiot.

Clint, who had been kneeling on his chair, slid down to the ground. "Hi," he said to Natasha, looking bashful.

"Hi." Natasha let go of James' hand, walked up to Clint and gave him a hug. Clint returned the hug instantly, giving Natasha a firm squeeze.

It was so adorable that James wished he had his camera out. "Okay," he said, leaning down to pat Natasha on the back. "That's a very nice hug."

"Best friends always give each other hugs," Natasha informed him as the children separated. "It's a rule."

"That is a good rule." James helped Natasha settle into the chair beside Clint. "But now we have to eat dinner and have friendly conversation."

"I'm going to have spaghetti," Clint told Natasha.

"I like spaghetti." Natasha looked at James. "Daddy, can I have spaghetti too?"

"Yes." James sat down and pulled his chair in. The table was so small that James' knee bumped against Steve's. James shifted position quickly and leaned across the table as if nothing happened, as if his heart wasn't racing at the unexpected contact. "Do you want to show Clint anything?"

With that, Natasha could not get the painting out of her tote bag fast enough. She turned the canvas right-side up and handed it proudly to Clint. "This is for you!" she said, leaning against his side. "It's a purple bird and he can fly high and he has a bow an' arrow!"

Clint's eyes opened wide. "This is for me?" he squeaked as he took the picture from Natasha. "For _me_?"

"I painted it just for you because we are friends!"

James had to shush Natasha, reminding her about her inside voice, as Clint gaped open-mouthed at his painting. "It's the best ever!" he said, still grinning. "Daddy, look!"

While Steve admired the painting, Natasha turned to James with a gleeful expression. "Daddy, he likes it!" she said in a loud whisper.

"Of course he does," James said. "You made him a present."

Natasha wriggled in her chair, grinning in excited contentment. It was one of those dad moments that James knew he would always remember, watching his little girl so happy.

The waiter came by, handing menus to the two men. Clint immediately reached for Steve's menu. Natasha mirrored Clint's actions by reaching for the menu in James' hand. "I thought you wanted spaghetti," James said, helping Natasha open the large menu without bumping into anything on the table.

"I know." Natasha, her attention on Clint, settled on her chair and held the menu propped up on her lap. Clint followed suit, almost knocking his napkin to the floor as he shifted around.

James had to hide his smile as the two children pretended to be absorbed in the menus. He made the mistake of making eye contact with Steve. The amusement on Steve's face made James let out a small chuckle.

"Daddy, no laughing," Natasha said from behind her menu. "We are in a grown-up establishment."

Steve burst out laughing, reaching over to slap James on the shoulder. "She's got you pegged," Steve said when he could control himself. "No funny business."

"Careful, Rogers," James growled, but he couldn't stop grinning. "No ganging up on me, I've had a hard day."

Natasha folded the menu closed and handed it to James. "I want spaghetti," she said.

"I want spaghetti," Clint echoed, letting Steve take the menu from him. "And two meatballs." He held up two fingers. " _Two_."

"Do you want a meatball?" James asked Natasha.

She hesitated, looking at Clint. "I don't know," she said after a minute.

"They are _so good_ ," Clint said, putting his fingers over his mouth. "I like them!"

Natasha looked at James beseechingly. Having spent five years deciphering Natasha's expressions, he thought he knew what was going on. "I have an idea," he said, leaning on the table. "How about we get you meatballs with your pasta, and then if you don't want them, I'll eat them?"

Natasha's expression cleared. "We'll do that," she said decisively. "Daddy, you're so smart."

"Yeah, well, I'm super old," he said, sending the children into gales of laughter.

The waiter appeared again, and food was ordered all around. Steve ended his order with a request for a glass of red wine, but James waved off the waiter when the man asked if James wanted anything to drink. As the waiter retreated, Natasha reached over to poke James' arm. "Daddy, I wanna show Clint my notebook."

"You do? Okay." Standing, James picked Natasha up and swung her into his lap as he moved into Natasha's chair. "Do you want to tell Clint what this is?"

"Okay." Natasha hauled the friendship notebook out of her tote bag and placed it on the table. "This is all the things I want to do because we're friends!"

Clint got up on his knees and bent over the book, his head next to Natasha's. "What's in it?" he asked.

"Every fun thing ever!" Natasha opened the cover. "Daddy, you gotta read it for us."

"Okay." James curved his metal arm around to hold Natasha in place. "But this is just the friendship fun that Natasha suggested. What makes it even more fun is that Clint can add his suggestions too, so you get to do things that you both want to do."

"That does sound like fun," Steve said. He was watching the three of them across the table, a small smile playing on his lips. "Wasn't that how we became friends, Buck? Finding stuff we wanted to do together?"

James took a moment to raise his eyebrows at Steve. As far as he recalled, they became friends when, on the first day of second grade, Billy Perkins called Steve homeless during recess because Steve was wearing second-hand clothing. Then Steve, little skinny scrawny Steve, told Billy to go bully someone else and Billy pushed Steve and, well, things got violent and James had to step in to make sure this little punk kid didn't get himself squashed like a bug.

However, to model good behavior in front of the children, James said, "Yeah, that's exactly how we became friends." The twinkle in Steve's eye grew. "How about we read the list now?"

The children were vocal in their enthusiasm, and after they had been quieted down James turned over the first page of the notebook.

"The first thing we can do as friends, is to make pizza," he said, reading Maria's careful writing at the top of the page.

"I like pizza," Clint said, patting his belly.

"I like pizza too," Natasha said, beaming at him.

"We'll put that on the to-do list," James said. "Okay, the next thing we can do as friends is…" he turned the page. "See dinosaurs."

"Yes!" Clint said, pumping his fist in the air. "You sure do like a lot of fun stuff, Natasha."

Natasha grinned.

"Next up, we can… Climb high."

" _So high_ ," Natasha put in. "As high as a building."

"As high as the sky," Clint added.

"As high as the moon!"

"Okay," James said. "What's next?"

They went through _grow a garden_ and _throw a ball_ , and James was just starting to think that Natasha was for once thinking realistically, when he turned over the next page.

"Go to Disneyland?" he exclaimed. Natasha dissolved into laughter, while Clint giggled at James from behind his hands. "What kind of a book _is_ this?"

"The best kind!" Natasha said happily. "We can go to Disneyland and ride the rides and it'll be so much fun!"

"Daddy, I want to go to Disneyland too!" Clint said, looking at Steve with wide eyes. "Can I go to Disneyland with Natasha?"

"I don't know," Steve hedged, but he was looking so indulgent that James kicked him under the table. "Disneyland is awful far away."

"We can fly in a plane," Clint said quickly. "Daddy, can we?"

James bounced Natasha on his knee. "How exactly do you plan to pay for this little trip?" he asked her.

"I will save my allowance." She gave a quick nod. "Yes I will."

"Oh? And how long do you think you'll have to save up?"

"One month."

"One month, huh?" James shook his head. "A little more than that."

"How much more?"

"Well, you get five dollars a week, so let's see, carry the three…" James screwed up his nose as he pretended to think. "About twenty years."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, frowning a mighty frown. "That's too long."

"So how are you going to go?"

"Uncle Tony can pay," Clint chimed in.

"Uncle Tony?" James asked, wondering less at the name than at how quickly Steve tried to shush the boy.

"My boss," Steve said, resting his hand on Clint's back. "We talked about this, Clint. Uncle Tony talks big."

"But he has _so_ much money," Clint objected. "He said so."

"Yes, but that's not our money. It's his. We have to earn our own way."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, echoing Natasha's posture. "I bet he would do it."

"Anyway," James said, trying to draw the boy's attention off this rich 'uncle', "Let's see what else is on this list."

To James' everlasting relief, the rest of the headers in the notebook were your typical five-year-old fare: _Eat popcorn, make bubbles_ , and _go to the zoo_. He put the notebook on the table between Clint and Natasha. "How about you two draw some pictures of the things you want to do?" he suggested, standing to put Natasha back into her chair. "And then on Sunday, when you come over for lunch, we can add in some things that Clint wants to do."

The children jostled for the crayons, bending close to each other to draw on the pages of the notebook and chattering happily the whole time. James made sure they weren't in any danger of pushing anything off the table, then sat down in his chair.

Steve took a swig from his water glass. "How was your week?" he asked.

James shrugged his right shoulder. "It was okay. Nat's art class is almost over, so we'll have our Wednesdays back for the summer."

"That's good." Steve inclined his head at the notebook. "That's a nice thing you did, helping her with that."

James, who was keeping an eye on Natasha so she didn't overwhelm Clint, said distractedly, "Love to say I did, but my partner Maria deserves the credit on that one."

Steve sat back, his expression changing almost instantly. "Oh," he said. "I didn't think…" He ducked his head to fiddle with his fork, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "I didn't realize you were with anyone."

James caught a hint of something in Steve's voice, something he couldn't quite make out. "What? No, not like that." He reached into his suit pocket for a business card. "Maria's my business partner. She was at the house on Monday morning for work. She's Natasha's favorite person in the world."

Steve took the business card, which had the names of both founding partners under the company name. The  hint of pink on his cheeks deepening, Steve let out a bashful chuckle. "You two work well together?" 

"We do," James said cautiously. Of course Steve had made the mental leap from _partner_ to _lover_ ; in James' experiences, straight boys always looked for any hint of straightness in other men. Stringing together a woman's name with the phrase _partner_ was easy pickings in the heterosexual sweepstakes.

Across the table, Natasha had looked up at the mention of Maria's name. "Maria is the best," she informed Steve as she reached for the green crayon. "She is _so_ smart and _so_ pretty and she carries a gun."

Steve's eyebrows arched at that last, and James hastened to jump in. "Maria's ex-FBI."

"How did you two meet?"

"We have a mutual friend," James said, and left it at that.

The waiter returned with Steve's wine and a basket of bread. Clint and Natasha both dove for the bread, and there were a few confused minutes while bread and crayons vied for supremacy.

Once James was sure that Natasha wouldn't eat the entire bread loaf on her own, he sat back and loosened his tie enough to undo his shirt's top button. "This is a nice place," he said, looking around the restaurant. "How did you find out about it?"

The question made Steve look down at the table. He picked up his napkin and smoothed the fabric through his fingers. "A friend," he finally said.

From his tone of voice, James doubted that 'friend' was all it had been. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve took a deep breath. "More than a friend. Sam and me… anyway, yeah, Sam brought us here a few times."

James' mind instantly filled in the blanks on this _Sam_ person. She'd have been tall, no doubt, perfect in every way. "It didn't work out?" he asked mildly.

Steve shook his head. "Well, it did for a while, but Sam was ready for a commitment that I couldn't make."

He was looking at James now, his eyes steady, his body braced. Making sure to keep his expression clear, James gave a shrug and said, "It happens."

At James' words, some pressure eased out of Steve's posture. "Yeah, I guess it does."

James didn't want to think about Steve's past loves, so he shifted his chair closer to Steve so he could speak without the children hearing him. "So, Disneyland?"

They chatted for a few minutes about Disneyland. Steve explained how he and the Erskines had gone to Disneyworld when he was fifteen, and James said he had gone to the Anaheim park once when he was on leave in LA, after Afghanistan and before Iraq.

"That must have been…" Steve failed to find an appropriate adjective.

"Surreal," James supplied. He picked up his water glass and drained it in one go; talking about Afghanistan always made him thirsty. "Like, there's people, and these bright colors, you know?"

There were a million things he wanted to tell Steve in that moment, but the words crowded in his throat. He wanted to tell Steve how weird it had been seeing so many people in one place, moving so slowly. He wanted to explain how he felt naked, without his rifle and body armor and various knives on his person. He had spent the whole day walking around, not going on any of the rides, just walking. He'd stayed until after dark to watch the fireworks and then gone back to his car and drove until he couldn't stay awake any longer.

His right hand was trembling. James clenched his hand into a fist and ruthlessly pushed the past away. He needed to keep it together, needed to be normal. Normal people didn't have nervous breakdowns in nice Italian restaurants while talking about Disneyland.

"Ever been to Six Flags?" Steve asked cautiously, and it was enough to help James yank himself back to reality.

As they talked, the restaurant grew louder. Everything seemed to be going all right, with James keeping at least half of his attention on Natasha. The first clue he had that something was amiss was when Natasha sat back in her chair and stared at Clint, who was oblivious to her.

James broke off mid-sentence and leaned over to Natasha. "Is something wrong?"

Natasha huffed, her little hands clenched in frustration. "Daddy, he's not listening to me!"

Steve reached over to put his hand on Clint's back. The boy looked up from his coloring, startled. "Hey, Clint, it's pretty loud in here, isn't it?" Steve asked. Clint nodded, putting his crayon down. "Sometimes, when it's loud, it can be hard to get our attention, right?"

Clint nodded again.

"Can you show Natasha and Mr. Barnes how we let people know we want to talk to them, when it's so loud?"

"Okay." Clint turned to Natasha, and very gently touched the back of her hand. "That means, I wanna talk to you."

"Like this?" Natasha pulled her hand away from Clint and then echoed his action. "Like that?"

"Uh huh." Clint grinned.

Natasha touched the back of Clint's hand again. "I want the blue crayon."

Clint reached for the requested item, which had rolled against his water glass on the far side of the table, and handed it to Natasha.

"What do we say?" James prompted.

"Thank you," Natasha said, drawing out the vowel sound.

"You welcome."

"You're welcome," Steve corrected, but the children were back to coloring again.

Dinner soon arrived at the table, and notebook and crayons were packed away in a hurry. The children each had a plate of spaghetti with marinara sauce, with two large meatballs on top of the pasta. Steve had roast lamb, while James made do with the fish of the day.

Clint tackled his meatballs with gusto, while Natasha avoided them entirely and twirled pasta around her fork. James looked at the pasta, then down at his fish, and wished heartily that he still had the metabolism of a teenager.

Steve lifted a forkful of lamb to his mouth. When he tasted it, his eyes rolled shut and let out an indecent sound. Fish forgotten, James said, "Any good?"

Steve nodded. "You gotta try this," he said after he swallowed, pushing his plate towards James.

James speared a morsel of lamb onto his fork and tasted it. Steve was right, that was simply _delicious_.

His attention was drawn as Natasha patted the back of his hand. "Daddy, the meatball's too big to eat."

James cut the meatball into small enough pieces for Natasha's approval, and then turned back to his own plate, wishing he had ordered lamb and red wine. But then, with Steve's physique, he probably spent hours in the gym every day anyway and didn't have to worry about calories.

Grimly, James ate his fish.

Dinner wound on, with Clint packing away more pasta than James would have expected for a boy his size. Natasha ate half of one meatball and a quarter of her pasta, then pushed her plate away and reached for James' plate with her fork. James let her eat what she wanted.

The conversation eventually landed on the plans for Sunday. Natasha thought they should go to the park again, while Clint was holding out for the zoo. Steve brought his phone out and was browsing for something. "It's supposed to rain on Sunday," he said, showing the weather forecast to the children. "We might want to do something inside instead."

"We could always make pizza like Natasha suggested," James said, more out of a lingering desire for carbohydrates than anything else. "That would take a while."

"How come?" Clint asked.

"Have you ever made pizza dough?" James asked. Clint shook his head. "It's just like making bread, but more fun."

"We make bread sometimes," Natasha told Clint and Steve. "I get to knead because Daddy can't."

James held up his metal hand in explanation. "If you guys come over at eleven, we can get everything started and then you kids can play while we wait."

"Okay," Clint said before Steve could react. "And we can bring the bird book and look at birds too."

"That sounds like a great idea," Steve said, smiling at James. "Something to look forward to."

Something twisted in the general vicinity of James' stomach, something small and warm. It had been less than a week since Steve Rogers had come back into his life, and he already wanted to keep Steve around forever. They hadn't even talked about much, just a few phone calls, mostly about the children, but this was the closest connection James had felt with another person in a very long time.

Natasha slipped out of her chair and walked around to James, poking at his side until he lifted her onto his lap. "Daddy," she said in all seriousness. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

Natasha pointed to a nearby table. "That lady," she said, "Has _chocolate cake_."

The ensuing discussion with the children about dessert captured all James' attention, but he did get a glimpse of Steve smiling fondly at the three of them, and James could not stop himself from smiling back.

Maybe, for just a few minutes, James could let himself enjoy this.


	5. Off Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Off Minor – John Coltrane](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0wK6A32vjw)

* * *

The rain was pouring down outside when James finished tidying the living room. "Nat!" he shouted up the stairs. "They're going to be here soon, are you ready?"

Natasha pattered down the stairs in bare feet, clutching her teddy bear under her arm. "I'm ready, Daddy!" She hurried to the window so she could look out on the sidewalk. "Are they going to be wet when they get here?"

"Probably." James eased himself to the ground beside Natasha, stretching out his legs. In anticipation of a quiet day around the house, he was wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt over his faded US Army shirt. "If you go outside in the rain, you're bound to get a bit wet."

Natasha patted her teddy bear's head absently. "You know, Daddy," she said after a minute. "When I'm outside in the rain, and I get cold, there's one thing that always makes everything better." She was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

James, who had heard this pitch before, said, "Oh really?"

Natasha nodded. "When your best friend gets cold, you have to have hot chocolate so they get warmed up."

"Hot chocolate," James repeated.

"It's a law," Natasha said solemnly.

"Really?" James tugged on the teddy bear's leg. "An actual law?"

Natasha let James take the teddy bear as she resumed her vigil of the sidewalk. "It's a law in Canada," she confessed. "Maria told me."

"Well, if Maria said so." James tossed the toy onto the sofa before pulling out his phone. No messages from Steve, but it was only five to eleven. "We can ask Clint and Steve if they want hot chocolate when they get here."

Natasha let out a shriek of happiness, flinging her arms around James' neck. "Daddy, you're the best!"

James hugged his daughter until she wiggled away. She had been so happy all week, talking about Clint and how fun it was to have a best friend… James would do anything he could to make sure Clint and Natasha's friendship had its best chance at success.

"Is that them?" Natasha asked, poking her finger at the glass. Amid the rain drops outside, James saw two figures moving down the sidewalk, one tall, one small. The smaller figure was wearing a knee-length purple raincoat.

"It looks like." James climbed to his feet. He made it to the front door just as the doorbell rang. Deactivating the alarm, James opened the inner and outer doors to let Steve and Clint inside. "What did you do, swim?" he asked as Steve dripped on the mat.

"You're hilarious," Steve grumbled as he shucked off his raincoat. Clint waited patiently, arms held out to the sides like a little purple starfish. "You sure you don't want to go to the zoo? There won't be any crowds."

"Nah, I already had a shower." James hung up Steve's coat while Steve helped Clint out of his rain-gear. The boy was wearing his sunglasses, in spite of the grey clouds in the sky. "Hey, Clint, how are you doing?"

Clint gave James the thumbs-up as Steve removed the boy's sunglasses and put them on the bench.

It occurred to James at that moment that Natasha was nowhere in sight. "Nat?" he called.

A distant crash, then silence. "Daddy?"

"Go," Steve said, and James hurried through living room and into the kitchen, where he found Natasha kneeling on the counter, the cupboard door open and the hot chocolate jar smashed open on the kitchen floor, powdered hot chocolate mix covering every surface.

Natasha looked at him, her lower lip trembling. "I wanted to make hot chocolate for Clint," she said in a tiny voice.

Thankfully, Steve arrived on the scene before James had a mental breakdown. They shooed the children into the living room, then Steve took control of the broom while James went to find the mop.

"I'm going to get ants in here," James muttered.

Steve emptied a dustpan of hot chocolate mix into the sink and shook his head. "We'll get it all," he said. "It was nice of Natasha to want to make a hot drink for us."

"All I got now are coffee and whisky," James said. "I know which one I want."

"I brought some apple juice for Clint. We could put that in a sauce pan, make apple cider," Steve suggested. His wet hair was drying into adorable blond spikes, and James had to suppress away the urge to smooth those spikes down. "You've got some spices around here, I saw them last week."

"Does apple cider go with pizza?" James wondered aloud.

"Everything goes with pizza."

It took the grown-ups about ten minutes to get the powdered chocolate mix cleaned up, then James told Steve to go see what the kids were doing.

Steve hesitated, looking at the mop in James' hand. "I could do that," he offered.

James tightened his grip on the mop handle and stared Steve down. "I got this," was all he said.

With a nod, Steve turned into the living room.

Now that he didn't have an audience, James set about mopping as best he could with his metal arm. The rhythm was easy to get into, lift the mop into the bucket, wring out the water, slap the mop to the floor and push with the right hand, guide with the left. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

He had to stop once to change the water, but eventually, the floor was sparkling. With one final heave, James emptied the mop bucket into the sink, rinsed it and the mop until they were clean, then carried both to the back door to sit outside on the back stoop in the rain.

His torso ached with the pull of the prosthesis' harness, but he did not slow down. The soreness would lessen once he stopped putting weight on the metal arm; that he knew from hard experience.

Keeping an ear on the sound of voices in the living room, James pulled the stand mixer out of the cupboard, then set the pizza dough ingredients on the counter. Lastly, he poured water into the coffee maker to start a new batch of coffee going for him and Steve, then left the kitchen.

In the living room, Steve, Natasha and Clint were all coloring on large sheets of paper. Clint and Natasha were drawing Natasha's teddy bear, which was propped up on the sofa. Steve in turn was sketching the children. "All clear?" Steve asked as James collapsed into the armchair behind him.

"Yup." James shifted around so he could see Steve's picture more clearly. "That's really good."

"Art school," Steve said by way of explanation. His pencil flew over the paper, capturing the children in quick shades of movement, before he moved on to another scene. "I don't get to do much drawing in my day job."

Meanwhile, Natasha had put her crayon down and was getting to her feet. She made her way over to James and leaned against his knee, looking sad and tragic.

With an effort, James sat up. "Hey, pumpkin. You okay?"

Natasha nodded. "I'm sorry."

James pulled Natasha onto his lap and she cuddled up against his shirt. "What are you sorry for?" James asked.

"For making a mess," she said.

"I can help you clean up next time," Clint offered.

"Thanks Clint, that's a nice thing to say." James turned his attention back to Natasha. "Thank you for apologizing, Nat. What are you going to do different next time?"

Natasha winkled her nose as she thought. "Don't drop things from up high?" she suggested.

"Or," James said, "You could ask for help in getting something from the top shelf."

"All right," Natasha said in a long-suffering voice.

James kissed her cheek and set her to the ground. "Do you guys want to start the pizza dough?" he asked. Loud assent met this suggestion, and everyone crowded into the kitchen. With help from James, Natasha and Clint measured the ingredients into the bowl and supervised the mixing process, Steve watching from the sidelines. When the dough was ready, James instructed the children to wash their hands before setting them loose on the dough.

Clint was intent on kneading _just so_ , patting the dough over and then giving it a big push with his tiny hands. Natasha was more haphazard about things, randomly pushing and slapping at the dough. She chattered away as James sprinkled flour around in hopes of preventing the dough from sticking to every available surface.

"…and Clint has archery class on Friday and swim class on Monday," Natasha was saying. "Right?"

"Uh huh." Clint paused to poke a smiley face into the dough's surface. "I shoot arrows on Friday and swim on Monday."

"Where do you swim?" Steve asked from the sidelines.

"At the YMCA," Clint said with careful pronunciation. "I'm a ray!"

James raised his eyebrow at Steve. "It's a swim level," Steve clarified. "Clint's going to move up into the big kids' swim classes this fall."

"Daddy," Natasha said hopefully, pressing her dough around the counter. "Can _I_ go to swim lessons?"

James reached for Natasha's dough and gave it a few one-handed turns. "There's too many things in your schedule right now," he said, not looking at her. "Come on, we're almost done."

After a few more minutes, James helped Natasha and Clint put their dough into oiled bowls, had them cover the bowls with dish cloths, and got them washed up and sent them off to play.

"They have classes at the Y on Wednesday nights," Steve said as he filled the sink with soapy water.

"What?"

"Swimming on Wednesdays," Steve repeated. "You said that Natasha's art classes are done at the end of May, right? That's in a couple weeks."

James closed the lid on the flour container with more force than was necessary. "Can you drop this?" he said sharply.

"It's okay if she's never swum before, they have parent and kid starter classes—"

"I said drop it!" James barked, slamming his hand onto the counter. Steve went still. James had to push past the roaring in his head, tried to find some words to deflect Steve, because he couldn't put on a bathing suit and take Natasha into a pool, he just _couldn't_.

The kitchen got so quiet that James could hear the soap bubbles popping in the sink, the faint sounds of children's footsteps upstairs.

Then Steve asked, "Is this about your arm?"

James curled his metal hand into a ball, watching the play of light on the shining metal. The frustration and anger and self-loathing was thick on the back of his tongue; he couldn't even take his daughter swimming, couldn't bear the thought of people looking at him like he was some kind of freak, missing an arm, scar tissue twisted up all along his left side.

He couldn't do it.

After a moment, Steve cleared his throat. "There's also classes on Monday that I could take Natasha to. I mean, if you wanted. I have to be there anyway to drop Clint off, I just usually hang out in the observation area, but I could suit up and take Natasha into the pool for the class. It's only about forty-five minutes."

James forced his metal hand to uncurl. "Can you let it the fuck go?" he said, voice coming out ragged.

"If you want," Steve said. He went back to washing dishes while James put things away. The faint sounds still came from the upper floor, but the direction of the sounds changed slightly and it took James a moment to realize something was wrong.

"What the…"

"Everything okay?"

James threw his dishtowel on the counter. "I think they might be in my room."

Steve was at James' heels out of the room and up the stairs. "Do you have any weapons in the house?" Steve asked.

James paused mid-step to glare at Steve. "Everything's in the gun safe, which is behind a locked door with a ten-digit number code and a thumbprint scanner," he said. "I'd never let Clint go anywhere where he might get hurt."

"Good," Steve said, and he brushed past James up the stairs.

The door to James' bedroom was half-open, and James could hear the children inside speaking in hushed voices. On silent feet, James moved to push open the door, Steve hovering at his shoulder.

The closet door was open and Natasha and Clint were sitting on the floor, James' old prosthetic arm on the floor between them. The children looked up guiltily at the adults' entrance. For a moment, no one spoke.

"All right," James said finally, entering the room and crouching down. "Who wants to go first?"

Clint looked at his knees, while Natasha clasped her hands behind her back like she always did when she knew she was in trouble. "We were only looking," she said.

"I wanted to see it," Clint said in a whisper.

James sighed. "This is not a toy," he said, picking the arm up off the floor. "This is a piece of medical equipment that I still have to use sometimes."

"I know, Daddy."

"I'm going to put this back in the closet, and I need you both to promise that you won't come in here to play with it again."

"I promise."

"Me too."

Taking in the dejected expression on Clint's face, James' curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you come up here?"

Clint looked over James' shoulder to Steve, then at James' metal hand. He whispered something that James didn't catch.

"What's that?"

"He said," Natasha interjected loudly, "That he wanted to know why you had a fake arm like he has a fake ear but he's not supposed to ask you 'bout it."

James could hear Steve shifting behind him. "And you thought it was a good idea to come up and get the old arm out of the closet for him?" James asked Natasha.

Caught now, Natasha squirmed in place. "We were only looking," she said again.

James stood, put the old prosthesis back on its shelf in his closet, and closed the closet door behind him. He went back over to where the children were standing huddled together and he sat on the floor, letting his aching muscles relax.

"Clint, did your dad tell you that you shouldn't ask me about my arm?" James asked. Clint nodded, looking miserable. James sighed. "Is it okay if I tell you a story about my arm?"

Natasha perked up and jumped at James, moving around to sit on his knee. Clint, interested in spite of himself, wiggled closer to James. A shifting out of the corner of James' eye told him that Steve was moving to sit on the edge of James' bed.

"Okay, here's the story." James took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to say. "When I met your dad again last week, it was the first time I seen him since we were twelve. That's a very long time."

"Daddy is old," Natasha contributed solemnly.

"And when I saw him, I wasn't ready to talk about what happened to my arm, because all I could think about was how long it had been since I saw him and all the stuff that's happened since then."

Clint was nodding.

"Nat already knows about this, because she and I have been a family for so long." James put his right arm around Natasha. "But I didn't think about what questions you might have. You can ask me anything you want, and I'll try to answer."

Clint rubbed behind his right ear, just below the hearing aid. "Do you have any of your real arm at all?" he asked.

"I do. Not a lot, but a bit."

"What happened?"

James tried to think of how to explain such a bloody and violent thing to a young child who, at five, would be able to understand more than James would have liked. "I was a soldier, in the Army," he said carefully, knowing Steve was listening to every word. "And I was in Iraq. Do you know where that is?"

"Uh huh," Clint said. "I saw it on the television."

"And there was a bomb, and it went off and my left arm got hurt really bad."

The words were inadequate to describe what had actually happened; the bomb going off too close to James' body, shards of shrapnel cutting through his arm and shredding his body amour, the blood and flesh and the burning and all James could do was scream.

He breathed through the memory, using his right hand to pat Natasha gently on the back, to centre himself in the present.

Clearing his throat, James went on. "They took me to the hospital and the doctors operated to save what was left of my arm, and I came home to New York. A few months later, I met Natasha when she was just a little baby, and we've been a family ever since.

Clint put his index finger in his mouth and chewed on it. "Did it happen 'cause you were bad?" he asked after a moment.

Behind James, Steve let out a soft, pained sound. James looked Clint straight in the eye and said, "Absolutely not. Sometimes things happen that aren't our fault but we get hurt anyway."

"Does it still hurt?" Clint asked as Steve got off the bed and went over to sit beside his son.

"Sometimes it does," James said. A boy as young a five wouldn't understand phantom pain, how James' brain kept sending nerve impulses to parts of his arm long since gone. "Most days I'm okay, but some days it still hurts."

"Daddy, show them," Natasha ordered. "Show them your arm."

"Nat, they don't want to see that," James said, but he knew it was a lost cause as Clint's eyes grew wide and he stopped chewing his finger.

"Is it scary?" he asked in a whisper.

"It's not scary," Natasha said indignantly. "It's my daddy!"

James looked Steve. "You okay with this?" he asked, and it was entirely possible that he put a little challenge in his voice.

Steve lifted his chin. "If you are, then yeah."

James shifted Natasha down to the floor, then pulled his flannel shirt off. "Here goes nothing." With that, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and worked it off over his head.

Clint was silent and Steve couldn't stop staring, but James had set this up and damn it, he was going through with it. Turning so Clint could see better, James curled the prosthetic arm up then straightened it out.

"See?" Natasha said, going around to James' left side. "It's not scary." She patted the metal sheath that covered his shoulder, to give him better leverage and to even out the weight and pull on his body. "It's just how dad is."

Something in Steve's expression made James want to go all the way, just do this, stop worrying if Steve would be repulsed by his body and just _show him_. "You okay if I take the arm off?"

Steve put his arm around Clint's shoulders. "What do you say, buddy?" he asked. "Would it be okay if Mr. Barnes took off his metal arm?"

Clint nodded vigorously.

With practiced fingers, James undid the metal arm's three harness straps from around his torso. When the arm was only held on his body with the anchor strap hooked around his right underarm, he took hold of the metal bicep with his right hand and eased the prosthesis off the stump of his left arm.

Carefully, James placed the metal arm on the floor. Clint was staring at him, open-mouthed, but somehow James could not make himself look at Steve's reaction.

"See?" Natasha said, putting her arms around James' neck. "It's not scary."

James knew what Steve and Clint saw; the disfigured stump of his left arm, the scars running along his left side where bomb shrapnel got under his body armor. _This_ was why he couldn't take Natasha to swim lessons; if Steve stared at him so, what would strangers do?

"Not scary at all," Natasha went on. She patted James' left arm just below the shoulder. "You gotta be gentle but it doesn't hurt."

Clint climbed to his feet and moved slowly over to James. "It's just like a normal arm," James said, holding his left arm up for Clint to see. "It's not sticky or slimy or gross."

Carefully, Clint reached out to touch one of the scars on the arm stump. He snatched his hand back as soon as he made contact. Then, slowly, he reached out again to place his hand on James' arm and give a soft pat-pat, mimicking Natasha's actions.

"See?" Natasha said, beaming at Clint. "It's okay."

"It is okay," James agreed. "Do you see now why I need to use the metal arm?"

Clint nodded. "I won't play with your arm ever again," he promised.

"Good." James lifted the prosthesis onto his lap. "Why don't you two go play in Natasha's room for a while, then we can go down and finish the pizza?" Once Natasha and Clint had scampered out of the room, James slumped back against the side of the bed. "And that," he said after a minute, "Is why I can't take Nat to swimming lessons."

"My offer to take her still stands," Steve said.

James glared at him. "If I tell you that I'll think about it, will you shut up about the whole thing?"

"Yeah, if you really do think about it."

James shook his head. "You're a real jerk, anyone ever tell you that?" he asked, straightening out the prosthesis' straps in preparation of putting the arm back on his body.

"You, and often. You need a… um, any help with that?"

James paused with the strap halfway down his right arm. "Steve, I swear to god, if you ask me if I _need a hand_ I'm going to punch you in the nuts."

The smile on Steve's face was small, but real. "You always knew how to fight dirty," was all he said.

"It's called fighting to win, Rogers," James said as he slipped his left arm into the socket of the metal arm. He could feel the implants activating, sending commands to the metal arm. Curling his left hand into a ball as a test, he went to work on the rest of the harness straps. "I need all the advantages I can get these days. Come on, help me up."

Steve sprang to his feet; James took his offered hand and let Steve haul him bodily upright. "You seem to be doing all right," Steve said, still holding James' right hand in his.

James didn't speak for a moment. Things hadn't been weird when the kids were in the room, but now it was just him and Steve, in James' bedroom, and James wasn't wearing a shirt, and Steve wouldn't let go of his hand.

If this had been some kind of movie, this would be the part where James would lean in for a kiss, and the music would swell and the credits would roll, but this wasn't a movie, this was real life.

Steve cleared his throat. "Thanks for showing Clint your arm," he said softly, still holding James' hand. "It's good for him to know what happened to you."

Swallowing hard, James took a step back, easing his hand out of Steve's grasp. "It's one day at a time, you know?" he said, his heart pounding hard as if he had just run a sprint. Turning, James went to retrieve his t-shirt.

"Yeah." When James turned around, Steve had the flannel shirt in his hands. "But still, thank you."

"It is what it is," James said, shrugging into the t-shirt. "I didn't want Clint to think there was anything wrong with it. Or with me."

There was so much unsaid in Steve's expression, so much emotion, that James didn't want to try to decipher, especially not in his bedroom.

"Come on," he said instead, tucking his hair behind one ear. "Let's go grab some coffee before the kids come down, okay?"

Steve smiled at him, a small smile that sent a thrill down James' spine. "I'd love some coffee," was all Steve said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I wrote an outtake that takes place on Mother's Day (so basically the week after this chapter ends) in which [Natasha and Clint (and Steve and James) all go to the zoo and Things Happen](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/96418714907/hands-of-clay-outtake-mcu-au-with-steve-and-bucky).


	6. Take the A Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Take The 'A 'Train by Ella Fitzgerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJ_4cRG8B1g). Technically one can take the A Train in Brooklyn but hey no one’s written a song about the F Line so we take what we can get.
> 
> This week’s cameo brings the Agents of Shield side of things into play…

* * *

The weeks flew by as May tumbled into June. Natasha and Clint spent as much time together as they could, and when they were apart, James was treated to a daily monologue about Clint and all the fun things Natasha and Clint did together, and how much Natasha looked forward to seeing Clint again.

In spite of all that, the children's friendship might have cooled off and the two families drifted away from each other after a few months, but for one significant event:

One morning, Clint ran away from school.

* * *

It went down on a Monday in early June. James dropped Natasha off at school and then went home, dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeve t-shirt to cover his arm and went for a jog. No one looked at him funny, no one commented on his hitched stride for balance, even his shoes didn't come undone.

He made the three-mile circuit easily, thanks to his daily use of the treadmill in the basement, and arrived home just as the mailman was dropping the daily mail into the letterbox. A shower and two cups of coffee later, James settled down to review plans for a new condo complex upstate.

Work being what it was, James remained engrossed until his phone rang. Looking at the call display, James swore under his breath. It was Natasha's school. A dozen thoughts flew through his mind. Was Natasha sick? Had he made sure her emergency inhaler was in her backpack that morning?

Only one way to find out. Lifting the phone to his ear, he said, "James Barnes speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," came a commanding voice. "This is Ms. Green speaking, from St. Ursula's."

James nearly dropped the phone. Ms. Green was the headmistress of Natasha's private school. He'd seen her on the first day of classes, when the woman came in to welcome the new kindergarten students, but she hadn't been the one to call the house on the two occasions when Natasha had gotten sick in class.

What had Natasha _done_?

"Are you familiar with a young man by the name of Clint Rogers?" the headmistress went on.

"Yes, I am," James said, confused. "What's happened?" He envisioned a situation in which Natasha had felt the need to defend her absent best friend's honor against another student. There would probably have been name-calling involved; Natasha hadn't ever hit another student, but she had the ability to hurt feelings with unerring accuracy when provoked.

However, James was not expecting Ms. Green to say, "Young Mr. Rogers showed up in Miss Barnes' classroom this morning after recess. I was hoping you might be able to help me figure out what to do with him."

"What?" James exclaimed. "Clint's there? Is he okay?"

"He is," Ms. Green said. "He said that he wanted to see Natasha's school and came along himself in order to do so. I have been unable to reach his father at the number the young man gives, and Natasha suggested that I contact you."

"Yeah, of course," James said, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Clint's really okay?"

"Physically, yes," Ms. Green said. "He appears to be upset about something, however, and won't tell me what it is."

"Maybe he'll tell me," James said, hurrying out of his office and towards the stairs. "I'll try calling his dad and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"We will see you in a few minutes, Mr. Barnes," said Ms. Green, and hung up.

James sprinted up to his room. Pulling off his sweatpants and t-shirt, James wondered what the hell was going on. There was no chance in hell that Steve would have taken Clint to Natasha's school and abandoned the boy there; so how the hell had little five-year-old Clint gotten across Brooklyn?

Had someone else taken him there?

James' first thought was of Sharon, Clint's mother, but no, that made less sense than if Steve had done it. If Sharon had taken Clint out of school, she would not have left him at the school of a friend.

So if not Steve or Sharon then who?

Jeans buttoned, James reached for the metal arm, only to stop when he caught sight of the charging light on the station. The prosthesis wasn't fully charged yet, and James had been strongly cautioned against taking the arm off the power source before it finished charging.

Letting out a string of curse words that would have impressed his Ranger instructors, James pulled on a clean shirt, grabbed his wallet and phone, and tore off down the stairs with his left shirt sleeve hanging empty.

In the hallway, James paused long enough to don his jacket and grab his Bluetooth earpiece from the hall table. He shoved the thing into his ear and thumbed at the screen of his phone to call Steve.

Steve's phone went right to voice mail. "Steve, it's Bucky," James said as he activated the house alarm before slipping out the front door. "I just got a call from Nat's school. Clint's there and he's okay and I have no idea why he's there but I'm on my way to find out. Give me a call when you get this."

Touching the earpiece to end the call, James ran down the street to where he'd parked the jeep. He got in behind the wheel and went through the process of getting ready to drive one-handed; reaching across his body to pull the driver's door closed, buckling up the seatbelt, adjusting the mirror, then pulling his phone out of his pocket to drop on the passenger seat.

Steve had never given James his work number, only his cell. James didn't even know where Steve worked; the man had been very careful about not revealing the name of his employer in the few conversations they'd had about the subject. James had no way of getting in touch with Steve to let him know that his little boy was safe.

That just wouldn't do. James knew that if he was in Steve's place, if Natasha had gone missing, he would have been in a blind panic. James had to contact Steve somehow.

Well, James thought grimly, desperate times called for desperate measures. He scrolled through his phone's contacts until he found the person he was looking for, someone he would only call in when all other options had been exhausted.

"Hey."

"It's James Barnes," James said as he started the jeep. "Skye, that you?"

"Mr. B," came the voice of Skye ( _no last name, it's a thing_ ), sounding heaven sent. "How's my favorite munchkin?"

"Nat's fine." James grasped the knob on the steering wheel, specially installed for a one-armed driver, and accelerated into the lane. "Skye, I need a huge favor. Are you online?"

"It's funny how you ask that like it's a question. What's up?"

James slowed at the intersection to wait for a break in traffic. "There's a buddy of mine, I need his work phone number."

"Does your buddy have a name?"

"Steve Rogers. Somewhere in Manhattan."

"Sounds fake," Skye mused. There was the briefest of pauses, then she said, "I've got about ten of those in a three-mile radius. Can you narrow that down a bit?"

James racked his brain for any detail Steve had let slip. "He works as some sort of fundraiser, I think."

"Like for a school? A museum?" Skye asked. The sound of rapid typing came over the line. "Or," she added, a note of triumph sneaking into her voice, "As head of development for the Maria Stark Philanthropic Foundation?"

"What?" James exclaimed, nearly missing his turn-off. "Stark as in _Tony Stark_?"

"If your buddy is six foot and wears a tux like it's painted on, then yeah, that's him," Skye said. "I got paparazzi pics from their last gala. You said you want his phone number?"

At this point, James was three blocks from Natasha's school. If he waited until he was parked to call Steve himself…. "Can you call him for me?"

"Do I have a good reason?" Skye asked.

"Yeah, tell him that his son is okay and is at Natasha's school, and I'll be there in a few minutes."

"That's not bad, as reasons go. I'll do it." A brief pause. "Hey, since you called, what are you going to do with Natasha over the summer?"

"Why aren't you dialing?"

"It's called multitasking," Skye said. "If you want me to look after Natty when school lets out, let me know."

"I'll call you tomorrow," James said as he spotted a parking space. "Skye, I owe you one."

"Just make sure the kid's all right, Mr. B." And with that, Skye hung up.

James pulled into the parking space, riding up on the curb in his haste. He ducked out of the jeep, pausing long enough to realize he didn't have any change to plug the meter, then hustled along the block to Natasha's school.

Skye had been a student helper in Natasha's preschool and babysat the girl over the previous summer. Natasha thought Skye was pretty neat, and for her part Skye was active enough to keep up with Natasha. It had been in the back of James' mind to call Skye up to see if she was willing to resume her babysitting in the summer after Natasha's classes ended, but he hadn't gotten around to it.

James knew enough about Skye's background that he trusted her with Natasha; she was a student at NYU, majoring either in computer science or psychology or both, and she had an uncanny knack of always being able to find the strangest things on the internet. Even though it had been months since he had last seen her, Skye still sent along the occasional email with updates on security holes in various systems that she happened across while online.

All in all, she was a good kid. A little weird, but Natasha liked her.

Finally, James reached the school's entrance. He went through the front doors and along the hallway to the reception area, where the school's security guard was talking to the secretary.

A few minutes later, James was being shown into the headmistress's office as Ms. Green rose to greet him. "Mr. Barnes, thank you for joining us," she said, not batting an eyelash at his one-armed state.

Behind the woman, Clint and Natasha sat on child-size chairs by a low table. Natasha appeared much as she had that morning, uniform neat and hair braided, while Clint looked ruffled; his hair mussed, shoelace untied, grass stains on the knees of his jeans. His black and purple backpack lay beside the table.

"Glad to be here," James said, going over to the children. He knelt down. "All right, what's up?"

"Clint wants to come to school with me!" Natasha burst out. "And we can play and read and do all kinds of things!"

Clint rubbed his eyes. Other than his state of general dishevelment, he didn't look too bad, but he certainly wasn't the happy boy James had known for the past month.

"Clint, are you okay?" James asked. Clint nodded, but he looked so downcast that James went on, "Do you need a hug?"

Without a word, Clint slipped off the chair and surged forward, arms going up and around James' neck as the boy collapsed against James.

"That's a big hug," James said, wrapping his arm around Clint. Unlike Natasha, who vibrated like a hummingbird whenever James held her, Clint leaned heavily against James, a small solid weight. "It sounds like you had a big adventure today."

Clint nodded against James' shoulder.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Another nod, and Clint let go. He leaned against James' side as he rubbed his eyes again, and James could see the faintest hint of tears starting.

"Why don't we all sit down," Ms. Green suggested, coming over. With deft gestures, she got James seated on the grown-up size couch across from her desk, and then the children hopped up, Clint at James' side, and then Natasha on Clint's other side. "Clint, can you tell us what happened?"

"I _said_ ," Natasha said, bursting with importance, "That Clint wants to come to school with me!"

James put his hand on Natasha's shoulder. "Nat, can you let Clint talk? I need to hear it from him."

Natasha subsided with an ill grace. Clint looked up at James, then over at the headmistress. "I don't want to go to my school anymore," he said in an almost inaudible voice. "Natasha said it's nice here, so I came here."

"Why don't you want to go to school anymore?" James asked.

Clint's lower lip stuck out in the beginnings of a pout. "I don't like it," he whispered.

Natasha wrapped her hand around Clint's. "He can come to school with me!" she said again.

"Natasha."

The girl bit her lip and sat back, still holding Clint's hand. The little boy squirmed but didn't pull away from her.

"Clint, why don't you want to go to school?"

"When Mrs. Anders teaches, she sends me to the back 'cause I'm ruptive," Clint said. "I don't wanna be ruptive!"

James exchanged a baffled glance with Ms. Green. He didn't know what word Clint was trying to use. "Why does she call you that?" Ms. Green asked.

"I don't know!" Clint waved his hands wide in a show of confusion. "She says that and sends me to the back of the room and then I have to play by myself."

James was still puzzled, but a look of comprehension passed over Ms. Green's face. "Clint, is your teacher calling you _disruptive_?"

"Yes!" Clint burst out, almost in a wail. "And I don't wanna be!"

Natasha flung her arms around Clint's neck in a supportive hug.

"What happens when you go to the back of the room? Why don't you listen to lessons?"

Clint leaned into Natasha's embrace. "Because I have to go _all_ the way to the back and I can't hear!"

"You can come to my school and sit in the front row with me," Natasha promised.

Clint shook his head. "Sitting in the front makes my head hurt," he said sadly.

"Well, that doesn't sound good at all," Ms. Green said. "Clint, can you tell myself and Mr. Barnes how you got here today?"

Clint wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I got sent to the back again and I didn't want to be there," he said, as cross as James had ever heard him. "So when it was recess time I got my backpack and I left."

"How did you know how to get here?" James asked. As far as he could remember, Steve had indicated that Clint's school was near their apartment, in the south end of Brooklyn. "Did someone help you?"

"No," and now Clint was sitting up and looking rather pleased with himself. "Daddy shown me on a map where Natasha's school was, and he told me how to get from my school to her school, so I came that way."

"Why did your father tell you that?" Ms. Green asked.

"I asked." Clint gave a snotty sniffle. "Daddy shown me lots of things on maps on the computer. I like maps."

"When you left your school, what happened then?" Ms. Green asked, keeping them on point.

Clint poked his right index finger onto his left palm. "I walked and walked and I knew how to get to the subway 'cause me and Daddy get on the subway all the time after school," he said, drawing his finger along his hand. "And I 'memberd and I listened and got off the subway and walked here and I saw the big red sign on the corner like Natasha talked about!"

James could just imagine the scene; five-year-old Clint walking along the Brooklyn sidewalks, his large backpack taking up nearly half his small frame, alone and vulnerable. Swallowing a shudder, James asked, "Did anyone try to stop you?"

Clint shook his head. "Thomas says if you walk along behind a grown-up who don't see you, other grown-ups don't pay you no attention. So I walked behind grown-ups and no one said anything to me."

"Even on the subway?"

"Uh huh. I stood by an old lady." Clint wrinkled his nose. "She was _old_. She didn't see me, but no one bugged me."

"Cool," Natasha breathed, her eyes wide in amazement.

Ms. Green cleared her throat. "Clint, Natasha, why don't you go play on the computer?" she suggested. "Natasha, show Clint how to play the color game."

"Yeah!" Natasha jumped to her feet. "I love the color game, it's so fun!"

Clint reluctantly slid off the sofa. "Is it like school?" he asked warily as Natasha led him across the room.

"Yeah, but fun school!" Natasha said.

While Ms. Green got the children settled, James checked his phone. No calls or messages from Steve, only a quick _mission accomplished_ text from Skye. Where the hell was the man?

Once the children were occupied, Ms. Green came back over to the sofa and settled into the guest chair. She was an older woman, perhaps fifty, with an iron gleam in her eyes that made James feel a bit like a schoolboy himself. "How long ago did Clint get here?" James asked, resting his elbow on his knee.

"Just a few minutes before I telephoned you." Ms. Green kept half of her attention on the children as she spoke. "Mrs. Singh tells me that she went to the back of the room and when she returned, Clint was sitting at Natasha's desk and they were both looking well pleased with themselves."

"Damn it," James said under his breath. "Why the hell hasn't Steve called?"

Ms. Green shifted her attention to James. "Natasha tells me that young Mr. Rogers is her friend, and that his father is your friend." It wasn't a question, but James could read innuendo into the words and it was just like he was back in basic training, feeling the pressures of the lies reaching up to choke him.

Stiffening his spine, James pushed that away. He wasn't in the military anymore, and he wasn't in any danger of losing Natasha if it got out that he was gay. Besides, it wasn't like he was actually involved with Steve. Steve really was _just a friend_.

"Steve and I were friends when we were growing up," James said, voice even. "We met up again last month and the kids connected."

"Good," Ms. Green said firmly. "Mrs. Singh had been worried at how Natasha doesn't seem to be making any deep connections with the other children in her class."

James was well aware of this; Natasha's kindergarten teacher had mentioned that issue twice in monthly parent-teacher conferences. "She also said there's nothing wrong with Natasha's social skills."

"This is true."

Thankfully, at that moment James' phone rang. "Hello?"

"Bucky, what the hell is going on?" Steve's voice came down the line. "Someone left a message with the receptionist that I needed to call you about Clint."

"Yeah, don't worry about him, he's safe and sound."

There was a momentary pause. "Of course he is; he's at school."

It was James' turn to pause. "Didn't they call you?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve demanded.

The children were looking at James, Clint's eyes wide. Ms. Green went over to distract them while James escaped into the hallway. "Steve, Clint ran away from school this morning. He made it to St. Ursula's, I'm here with him now."

" _What?_ "

"He told me he left his school and he knew how to get here because you told him what train to take," James went on. "He snuck into Natasha's class and I'm looking at him right now playing on the headmistress's computer."

The only sound on the other end of the line was Steve hyperventilating. Remembering belatedly that Steve had asthma as a kid, James relented.

"Look, check your cell phone, maybe the school called you on there. I'll hang out here with Clint, okay?"

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Steve swore. "Clint's okay, he's really okay?"

"He's fine," James said, knowing what Steve was asking. "No one messed with him or anything."

"Oh my god."

"Do you want us to wait here for you to pick him up, or should I take the kids back to my place?"

"Could you do that?" Steve asked, relief washing into his voice. "I'm in Manhattan and it might take me a while to get back into Brooklyn."

"Sure, no problem."

"I have to call the school now," Steve said. "I just—I know you're busy…"

"I'm here as long as I need to be," James interrupted. "Anything you need, okay?"

"Thank you," Steve said, sounding so relieved that James almost felt guilty. "Just-- thank you."

When James returned to Ms. Green's office, Natasha was at the computer, but Clint was standing a few feet behind her, pointing at the screen and telling her something. Ms. Green was at her desk, watching the children with interest.

James made his way over to the desk. "Steve said I should take Clint home with us," he said without preamble. "Is there some kind of form I need to sign?

Ms. Green said, "Once a child enters this school, I and everyone on our staff becomes responsible for their welfare." She turned to James. "Is there any reason that I should contact the police or child services about young Mr. Rogers?"

"What?" James said, a little too loudly as both Natasha and Clint looked over at him. "No, Steve's a great dad. Don't you think that if Clint was running away from home, he'd have run away from _home_ , not school?"

Ms. Green shook her head. "He seems very well adjusted," she said. "Although I do think that he would benefit greatly from an eye exam."

"A what?"

Ms. Green gestured at the children. Natasha had enlarged the image on the screen, a series of color swatches, and Clint was nodding along happily with her from his short distance away. "We used to see it all the time when I was teaching upstate. Children don't pay attention in class because they can't see the board."

"Clint can see great, though," James said. "On the weekend he picked out a blackbird from like a mile away at the park."

"When someone is reading to him, does he look at the words, or at the speaker?" Ms. Green smiled as she reached into her desk. "Eye exams are not overly expensive, but I have a list of places that Clint's father might go if money is an issue."

James started to object, to say that Steve Rogers didn't need any charity, but he stopped himself. What did he know about Steve's financial situation? Clint was in public school, but that didn't mean anything. Steve didn't own a car, again not that uncommon in Brooklyn, and Clint was always dressed in clothes that appeared new. But how much money could a fundraiser make?

Swallowing his pride on Steve's behalf, James took the sheet of paper offered by the headmistress. "Thanks," he said as he stuffed it into his jeans pocket. "So, can we go?"

It wasn't quite that simple; James had to fill out some paperwork to take responsibility for Clint, and one of the office assistants went to Natasha's class to get her jacket and backpack. Eventually, though, James guided Clint and Natasha out onto the sidewalk and toward the jeep.

"Daddy," Natasha asked. "Why are we going home?"

"Because this isn't Clint's school," James told them. "And if I made you go back to class, you'd be distracted all day. Best we go home and try again tomorrow."

As Natasha half-heartedly argued the logic of this, Clint stepped against James' right side and slipped his fingers around James' palm. James gave a reassuring squeeze as they all continued along the sidewalk.

A flicker of paper from beneath the windshield wiper warned James that parking officers had been around. Swearing under his breath, James unlocked the jeep and had the children climb inside. "Seatbelts, everyone."

Natasha settled herself into her booster seat and reached for the buckle, while Clint groped around, unsure of himself. Letting Natasha be, James went around to Clint's side and helped the boy straighten out the seat buckle. "Am I in trouble?" Clint asked in a small voice.

"Yup," James said immediately. "But that's okay. Every kid gets in trouble sometimes, and you've got a dad who's pretty reasonable."

"What's 'reasonable'?" Natasha asked.

Clint was staring at James, his big eyes wide, so James paused to think through his answer. "Well, it means that Steve has some common sense, and he understands how people are, and that he'll look at the situation and not fly off the handle." He checked Clint's seatbelt one last time, then ruffled Clint's hair. "And most importantly, your dad loves you very much and he wants you to be safe and sound."

"Is he gonna be mad?" Clint asked.

"Probably, but not at you." James closed the back door and went around to Natasha's side, checked her seatbelt, then went to the driver's seat, grabbing the parking ticket off the windshield as he went. "When we leave you kids at school for the day, we expect you to be there when we show up, not that you'll run away."

"Would you be mad if I left school?" Natasha asked.

"You bet your buttons I would." James started the car. "Because we're having this conversation, and now you know better."

"But what if I want to have an adventure?"

James had guessed this was coming; at least Natasha was asking, rather than doing something foolish like running off to join the circus on her own. "You can have adventures with your old Dad."

"Dads can't have adventures."

"This one can." James glanced over his shoulder before pulling out into the street. "What kind of adventures are you thinking about?"

The drive home did not take long, especially with Natasha talking about the sorts of adventures she wanted to go on. Clint was quiet during the drive, and remained quiet as James parked and got the kids out of the jeep and into the house.

Once inside, James got the children out of backpacks and coats. Herding the children into the kitchen, hands and faces were washed before James settled them at the table. "All right," he said with great solemnity. "Who wants a snack?"

There was some left-over banana bread from the previous day's baking experiment, and Natasha deigned to let Clint have one of her precious milk cartons. Natasha ate as if she hadn't seen food in weeks, but Clint just picked at the banana bread. James, who remembered how heartily Clint had eaten the day before, watched the boy carefully. When Clint turned around in his chair and pressed his forehead against the chair slats, James asked, "What's wrong?"

Clint picked at the edge of the chair back. "Nothing," he said unconvincingly.

"Okay." James waited a few moments, then said, "You know, even if nothing's wrong, sometimes you can ask questions. About things you want to know."

"Daddy, have you ever played the color game?" Natasha interjected.

"No, I haven't. Is it fun?"

"Uh huh." Natasha took a sip of milk. "Clint is really good at it! He saw way more colors than I did."

"That's pretty neat."

Clint finally looked up at James. "Did you ever run away?" he asked.

It was amazing, really, how one simple question (and one that James should have seen coming) could pull him back in time, stopping the breath in his chest as if he'd been thrown up against a wall. But this was not the same; five was not fifteen; running away from school was not the same as being thrown out of the house in the middle of the night.

"No, I didn't," James said, keeping his voice even. "But I can imagine what it would be like."

"There were a lot of people," Clint said. "And one time, I got scared."

"What did you do when you got scared?"

"I said, I'm gonna go see Natasha, and then I wasn't scared anymore." He slid off the chair. "When's my dad gonna be here?"

"I don't know, but until he does, do you and Natasha want to play?"

"I do!" Natasha exclaimed. She slipped out of her chair. "Let's go!"

James arrested her with an outstretched arm. "First, you need to go change into some play clothes," he told his daughter. "After that, how about we go play out in the garden?"

Natasha ran out of the kitchen. James sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. Clint, watching James steadily, let out an echo of the sigh.

"Do you want any more of your snack?" James asked. Clint shook his head. "How about your milk? Can you try to finish your milk?"

"I'll try," Clint said. By the time James had cleared the table, Clint was draining the last drop from his milk carton. The boy handed it to James, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and looked at James expectantly.

Suppressing the urge to smile, James said, "How about we go outside while we wait for Natasha?"

* * *

Gardening at the Barnes household was a serious business. James had the children weed the garden boxes, managing to stop them from pulling out too many of the planted sprouts. Then, after warning the children not to goof around too much, he gave them the hose and let them loose.

Steve texted twice; the first to let James know he'd borrowed a car and was driving into Brooklyn to go talk to Clint's school. The next text came an hour later, saying Steve might not be there to pick up Clint for a while.

Upon reading that one, James checked the time, then stood up to retrieve the children from where they were elbow-deep in the mud.

"Who wants lunch?" James asked.

"I do," Natasha said, patting the mud gently. She had dirt smeared all over her arms and stomach. Clint was in worse shape, with mud on his face and neck and his shirt soaked.

"We're going to have to clean up first," James told her.

"Do we gotta get washed with the hose?" Clint asked warily.

"Nope. We're going to go upstairs to the bathroom."

Clint thought about this. "Okay," he said after a minute. "I don't like cold water."

"Me either." James held his hand out for a muddy fist bump, and Clint obliged. Natasha was next, then everyone trooped into the house.

Even though he got them out of their shoes outside, the children dripped mud all the way through the kitchen and up the stairs. James had long since resigned himself to being unable to prevent such housekeeping disasters in his one-armed state, and just shook his head at the inevitability of it all.

In the upstairs bathroom, James got the children to stand on the little stepstool by the sink, turned on the water to warm, and handed each of them a washcloth with the instructions to clean up. While they did so, laughing and shrieking the whole time, James went in search of clean shirts. Natasha was easy; it was Monday so James pulled her green t-shirt off the hanger. Clint was a tougher case; he was taller than Natasha and wider in the shoulders; none of her shirts would fit the boy, even if Clint would wear them. After a moment's thought, James went to his own closet to dig out an old t-shirt he'd picked up on leave back while he was on active duty.

Returning to the bathroom, James found the children were done with the washcloths and were rubbing the remaining dirt onto James' white towels. James distributed shirts all around, wincing at the state of the linens.

"Daddy."

James looked around to where Natasha was holding her green shirt in her hands. A small thundercloud was brewing over her head. "Yes Nat?"

"I don't like it."

"You don't like your green shirt?" James eased himself down onto the edge of the bathtub. "You wear that all the time."

Natasha's frown grew deeper. "But Clint gets a _big boy shirt_."

"Because I don't have anything in his size." James glanced over at the boy, who was happily modeling the t-shirt, which was so big on him that it fell past his knees.

"I want a big shirt too."

"Natasha."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. " _Please_."

It was amazing how a five-year-old could put such threat into one word. James thought about saying no, but technically she had asked nicely and hadn't resorted to a tantrum, which had been her usual pattern up until she entered kindergarten. Resolving to work on such grown-up concepts as _tone_ and _sincerity_ at a later time, James led the children to his bedroom, where he found a t-shirt to match Natasha's exacting standards.

While this was going on, Clint kept looking down at his shirt. As James helped Natasha straighten the too-big shirt over her shoulders, he asked, "Clint, what's up?"

"What is it?" Clint asked, pointing at the design on his chest.

"That," James said, "Is a hawk."

Clint's delighted smile lit up the room. "It _is_?"

"Come on." James took Clint into the hallway. From their vantage point, they had a direct line of sight into the bathroom, and more importantly the bathroom mirror. "Up."

Lifting Clint with one arm took a bit of doing, but James managed to get Clint up high enough for the boy to see himself in the mirror.

"Can you see now?"

Clint shifted around, stretching out the fabric so he could see the bright red bird. "It's so cool!" he exclaimed.

"Daddy," Natasha said, tugging on his jeans to get his attention. "Why do you have a shirt with a bird on it?"

James set Clint on his feet. "A long time ago, when I was in Ranger training, I'd go into Atlanta on my time off to watch sports games. This is a sports team shirt I got there."

"Are they a good team?" Clint asked. "What do they play?"

"They play basketball," James said. "And they work very hard and play as a team and that's what makes them good."

The Hawks hadn't won a championship in decades, but James always loved the underdogs, and he had fond memories of leave weekends in Atlanta with guys from his unit, taking in a basketball game and going for drinks afterwards.

It seemed very long ago, now. Another lifetime.

"What's this?" Natasha asked, pointing at her belly button.

"That is another bird," James said. Clint backed up a few feet and looked at Natasha's shirt intently. "That's the Atlanta Falcons logo."

"Do they do basketball?"

"No, they play football."

Natasha frowned up at James. "But Daddy," she said. "You don't like football. You told Maria so, I heard you."

"Yeah, well, I was in the army and sometimes that means you gotta wear camouflage."

Natasha was staring at him, her head tilted to the side, and James suddenly wanted to change the subject. He wasn't about to explain institutionalized homophobia or _Don't Ask, Don't Tell_ , to a couple of five-year-olds.

"Who wants lunch?"

"I do," Clint said, reaching for James' hand again.

"Me too." Natasha took Clint's free hand, and together they all walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

They had finished lunch and were half-way through a rousing game of Candyland when James' phone pinged. It was a text from Steve, saying he was outside.

James went to open the door and Steve rushed in without a word, scanning the room. "Daddy!" Clint yelled. The boy jumped to his feet and ran over to his father, who scooped him up into a hug.

"Oh, Clint," Steve said, holding his son tight. Clint wasn't small for his age, but he nearly disappeared in Steve's embrace. "Buddy, I am so glad to see you."

"Me too, Daddy." Clint leaned back so he could look Steve in the face. "We had grilled cheese for lunch, and Mr. Barnes let us play in the mud!"

The raw emotions on Steve's face were painfully easy to read, but Steve just smiled at his son and chucked him under the chin. "Grilled cheese, huh? I know how much you like grilled cheese."

"I do." Clint collapsed back on Steve's shoulder, his arms tight around Steve's neck.

"Come on," James said quietly, putting his hand on Steve's back and moving him over to the couches. Steve sat, still holding Clint tight.

From her place by the game board, Natasha was watching Steve closely. "Clint rode the subway _all by himself_ ," she said. "And he wants to come to school with me!"

Clint squirmed out of Steve's arms. "Can I?"

Something on Steve's face made James step in. "Kids, I need to talk to Steve. Can you play here for a little while?"

"Okay," Clint said, sliding to the ground and going back over to the game board. After a few moments, Natasha turned back to the game.

James stood and poked at Steve's shoulder until the man hauled himself to his feet and followed James into the kitchen.

"You need a drink or something?" James asked as Steve collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee? Something stronger?"

"They didn't even know that Clint was gone," Steve said, burying his head in his hands.

James turned away from the coffee maker. "What?"

"The school didn't even know Clint was gone." Steve sat back. "When I called them, they didn't know what I was talking about."

"They didn't know he was gone?" James repeated, returning to the table. "He was all the way across the fucking city and they didn't know he was _gone_?"

Steve looked at James. "His class goes to the music room after recess on Mondays, there's some other teacher in charge then. She said she thought Clint was absent. None of the other kids said anything."

James pushed his hair back out of his face. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded.

"Oh, it gets worse." Steve reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. "When I got there, they told me since Clint left school in the middle of the day, he was going to be marked as truant and suspended for leaving school."

James could only stare at Steve, speechless.

"I got my five-year-old running away and now he's suspended," Steve went on, "And then the principal pulls out this folder and starts telling me that Clint—" Steve's voice broke, and he had to take a deep breath. "They're not going to let Clint go up to first grade, he's going to have to repeat kindergarten."

James slid into a chair across the table from Steve. "That's bullshit," he said, feeling about as stunned at Steve looked. "They lose Clint for hours on end and then they turn around and pull this shit? What the fuck are they smoking?"

"The principal said that Clint doesn't pay any attention in class, he's not learning his letters, he disrupts the other kids—"

"Yeah, I'd be disruptive too if they kept sending me to the back of the room where I couldn't hear," James exclaimed. "Steve, Clint isn't like that, you know it!"

Steve was frowning at James. "What are you talking about?"

"What?"

"Sending him to the back of the room?"

"That's why he ran away today," James said. "He got sent to the back of the room again and he couldn't hear and he got upset and took off."

"He's supposed to be at the front of the class because of his hearing aid," Steve said, mystified. "I talked to his teacher at the beginning of the year about this."

"Yeah, well, I guess she forgot." James stood. "He can't hear at the back of the room, he probably can't see at the front, it's no fucking wonder that he's not learning anything."

"Clint can see just fine," Steve said, and now anger was starting to creep into his voice. "Hell, better than fine. He can see distance perfectly!"

"From what I seen today, maybe he ain't doing so good on close-up," James said. "It's not me; Natasha's principal suggested that Clint get his eyes checked, that he might not be able to see letters and stuff."

"You're out of your mind." Steve pushed himself to his feet. "Clint doesn't have any trouble seeing."

"What's the other option, Steve? That he can't learn? That's such bullshit and you know it!"

"Shut up!" Steve shouted, getting in James' face, all big muscles and anger and James steeled himself in case Steve made this physical, like Steve had always made everything physical when they were young. "Don't you dare talk about my kid!"

"No?" James shot back. "Let me tell you about your kid, Steve. He's smart and he's daring and he's so fed up with that goddamn school that he'd sooner walk all the way across Brooklyn by himself than stay there any longer!"

Steve's lip curled and James braced himself for a punch, but after a moment, Steve stepped back. "I'm taking Clint home," Steve said, breathing hard like he'd just run a mile. James wasn't doing much better himself, his body jacked up on the adrenaline from the altercation. "I don't think we should come over here any more."

The words were like a punch to the stomach, but James had had decades of hiding his feelings from the world, and just because it was Steve Rogers this time made no difference. "Great plan," James said, layering the words with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "Your son needs help in school, so you yank him away from the first real friend he's made. Good idea."

"Don't you go throwing this back on me," Steve objected. "I'm his father, I have to do what's best for him, you understand?"

James clenched his teeth. "If that's what this was, then maybe I might."

Steve glared at James for a moment longer, then whirled around and stormed back into the living room. James hurried after him, hoping that the man didn't scare the children.

In the living room, however, a new problem had presented itself. Natasha stood by herself in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind her back as she tried to look innocent.

"Nat," James said, walking around Steve. "Where's Clint?"

"He's hiding," Natasha said. "Because he doesn't want to leave and never come back."

Going down on one knee, James asked Natasha to tell him where Clint was hiding, but to no avail. All he got was for Natasha to promise that Clint wasn't in any danger wherever he was hiding.

"At least he's still in the house," James said, rubbing at the stress headache forming in his left temple.

"Are you sure about that?" Steve asked.

"He couldn't have left," James said over his shoulder. "I set the alarm when you came in; if he'd opened any of the doors we'd have heard."

Natasha, meanwhile, was looking up at the ceiling with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Well," James said, making his voice louder than usual as he stood up. "You know, Steve, I think we might just need to give up and wait for Clint to come out."

Steve was looking at James as if the man had grown another head.

"In the meantime, how about we have some coffee?" James walked closer to Steve and added, in a whisper loud enough for Natasha to hear, "I think he's in the basement."

Natasha immediately relaxed, her shoulders drooping as she swayed to and fro.

"Nat," James went on, and bent down to pick the girl up. "Can you help Steve make coffee while I go check on the laundry in the basement?"

"Okay." Natasha allowed herself to be handed over to Steve. "I will help you."

"Thanks," Steve said. With one last look at James, he turned and carried Natasha into the kitchen.

Once the two of them were out of sight, James headed upstairs.

Part of him wondered if Clint had gone up to the third floor, to hide in those dusty and empty rooms. The door to the roof was locked and bolted, so James didn't worry that Clint would make his escape that way. But that did leave two floors to search, for a little boy who could fit into tiny spaces.

The first place James checked was Natasha's room, but no luck. Going out into the hallway, James was already planning a systematic search of the house when something caught his attention, something just slightly different than he remembered.

It took a moment for it to come to his conscious mind, but there it was. In the bathroom at the end of the hall, door still wide open, the shower curtain had moved since he and the children had last been up here, was now pulled to hide the bathtub.

On silent feet, James moved down the hall and into the bathroom. Slowly, so as not to surprise anyone hiding inside, he pulled back the shower curtain, to reveal Clint sitting in the bathtub.

"Hi," James said.

Clint pulled his knees up to his chest. "Hi."

"Can I join you?"

"Okay."

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, James lowered himself to the cold floor. "I'm going to text your dad to let him know that you're up here," he said, holding up the phone. "You cool with that?"

"I don't want to leave Natasha forever," Clint said forlornly.

"I know." James stretched out his legs. "Dear Steve," he said as he typed. "I'm with Clint and we are upstairs. We're going to hang out up here for a while and will see you in a bit."

That wasn't what he actually typed; the message he sent to Steve read _found clint up in bathroom gona talk 2 him make enoug coffe fr me_

Setting his phone on the tiled floor, James let himself slump a little. Already, his morning run seemed days past. "So. I guess you heard me and your dad yelling."

"Uh huh." Clint folded his arms on the bathtub ledge and rested his chin on his arms.

"We shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"I don't like it when Daddy yells," Clint said, but he didn't appear too upset. "I don't like it when anyone yells."

"Do grown-ups yell a lot?" James asked curiously.

"Sometimes, when they see my hearing aid." Clint scowled. "They don't have to yell, I'm not _dumb_."

"People can be pretty stupid sometimes," James agreed. "When I got back from Iraq, and was walking around without my prosthetic arm, I got some really stupid comments. I mean, like, some real boneheaded stuff."

Clint rubbed his eyes. "Why do people _do_ that?"

"I think it's because they get nervous," James said. "They see someone with a hearing aid, or a missing arm, and they get nervous and don't know what they're supposed to do so they overcompensate."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that they try to behave like they think they're supposed to, only they don't know the right way and they go over the top."

Clint scrunched up his nose. "I don't like it when they overcompensate." He said the last word slowly but with the correct pronunciation.

"You can tell them that."

"How?"

James pressed his shoulders against the wall, thinking. He wanted to give Clint a good answer, one the boy could actually use, instead of his own coping mechanism which involved more swearing than a boy Clint's age should hear. "You can say, 'you don't need to yell because I can hear you when you talk normally'."

Clint considered this. "What if I can't hear them when they talk normal?"

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Some times. Sometimes people talk like this." Clint pursed up his lips and whistled. "Or else like this." He put his hands over his mouth and made farting sounds against his palms.

James couldn't help it; he started to laugh. "You should tell those people that they need to talk to your dad and he can tell you what they say."

Clint moved around so he could get up on his knees in the tub. "Mrs. Anders is a farthead," he said darkly.

"Is that your teacher?"

"One of them."

"Was she the one who sent you to the back of the class today?"

Clint nodded. "She calls me ruptive and I don't know what that _means_."

James had no idea what to say. He was used to dealing with Natasha, who absorbed language like a little sponge. "Well," he began, then stopped. "Hang on." He pulled out his phone and touched the screen to bring up the browser, then typed in the word. "This says that disruptive mean troublesome or badly behaved."

Devastation pushed Clint back on his heels. "I am not!" he protested as tears started to slide down his cheeks. "I'm not a trouble some!"

"No, you're not," James said, putting his phone down. "Clint, listen to me. I may have only known you for a month, but I know that you're smart and easygoing and a really good friend, and that you listen really well and you make funny jokes."

Clint sniffled hard. "I try to listen," he said, and sniffled again. "But sometimes I _can't_."

James reached over and pulled the box of tissues off the counter and handed it to Clint. "What are the other kids in your class like?"

"They're okay," Clint said as he grabbed a handful of tissues and use them to rub at his face; this only succeeded in smearing tears around. "Sometimes we play at recess, but sometimes they want to play games I don't like so I play by myself."

"Do they ever make fun of your hearing aid?"

"No," and Clint looked astonished at the mere suggestion. "That's _bullying_ and that's _wrong_."

James, who had suffered through twelve years of a Brooklyn public school education, took a moment to marvel at how much had changed since he was Clint's age. "How old are you again?"

"I'm almost six."

"When's your birthday?" James asked as he scooted closer to help Clint blow his nose.

"August 9."

"Wow, only two months to go." James pulled another tissue out of the box and handed it to Clint. "That's pretty cool."

"When I'm six, I can do _so much stuff_." Clint wiped his cheeks dry. "I can go into the big kids swim class, and I can go to the climbing gym!"

"Tell me about the climbing gym," James said, as this was something he had not yet heard about from Natasha. Clint launched into a rapid description, the light and animation returning to his face as he talked.

This was the boy James knew, who got excited about things and was always smiling. He couldn't understand how the teachers wanted to hold Clint back in kindergarten another year. It didn't make any sense.

As Clint's explanation of the climbing gym continued, James stood and helped Clint climb out of the bathtub. Holding James' hand, Clint allowed himself be led down the stairs to the main floor, still talking.

Steve and Natasha were seated at the kitchen table, Steve hunched over a cup of coffee while Natasha sipped delicately from a mug of her own. "Daddy!" Natasha exclaimed as soon as James appeared. "We are having a tea party! I am drinking tea!"

"Is that a fact?" James shepherded Clint around the table to Steve. "Can we join this little shindig or is this an exclusive party?"

"You can come sit too," Natasha said, setting her cup on the table. "Steve makes tea the _right way_ , Daddy."

"How's that? And what's this 'Steve' business?"

"I used about three tablespoons of sugar," Steve said, subdued as he pulled Clint onto his lap. "I figured that if Natasha and Clint are going to keep spending so much time together, we all might as well be on a first-name basis."

He looked at James as he said this, not so much an apology in his eyes as a challenge. James met this glare straight on and said, "An excellent idea. Clint, do you want to call me James?"

"Okay," Clint said, preoccupied with reaching for Natasha's mug. "And you can call me Clint."

"You got yourself a deal."

After Clint took a swig of Natasha's tea, Steve stood up with the boy perched on his arm. "We should get going. We've taken up enough of Bucky's time for the day."

"It's not a problem. You'd do the same for us."

James had spoken without thinking, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Steve gave a quick nod. "I would," he said quietly.

"Bye bye Clint," Natasha said loudly. "You can come back to my school any time."

"I like your school," Clint said. "You play fun games."

"Next time, you're taking me with you," Steve said, bouncing Clint on his arm. "No more running off, promise?"

"I promise, Daddy."

James and Natasha saw Steve and Clint out the door, Natasha holding Clint's backpack for him while Steve helped the boy put on his shoes.

"I'll wash Clint's shirt and you can pick it up next Sunday," James said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Deal." Steve stood, biting at his lip as if he wanted to say something else, but the children were watching and James wasn't really sure he could handle whatever Steve was thinking about.

"Go, take care of your son," James said, slapping Steve on the back. Then, in a quieter voice as the children said their farewells, he added, "You need anything day or night, you call me."

"Bucky, I…"

"Anything," James said again. "Doesn't matter what time. You call me."

"I will."

After seeing Steve and Clint off down the road in the direction of when Steve parked his borrowed car, James and Natasha sat down on the front stoop. Natasha was looking pensive. "Daddy," she said. "I don't like it when you and Steve yell. It's scary."

"I don't like it either," James said. "We won't yell any more, okay?"

"Good." Natasha rested her chin in her hands. "Will Clint come over to play again?"

"Yeah." James put his hand on Natasha's back. "What me and Steve said, that was us adults disagreeing. You and Clint are the most important things in the world to us, you remember that."

"Clint is the third important person I ever met," Natasha said solemnly. "There's Director Fury, then Maria, then Clint."

"What about me?"

"You don't count, you're my daddy."

"I don't count, huh?" James pulled Natasha over his shoulder and stood, making the girl shriek with glee. "Let's get changed and go to the park."

As they headed back into the house, James was struck with a pang of anxiety. After James had retrieved Clint, Steve hadn't said anything about Clint's vision or about repeating kindergarten or the suspension.

James knew better than to step on other people's parenting techniques, but damn it, Clint was a good kid, a smart little guy with daring and gumption, and James wanted to help him and Steve as much as he could.

He'd call Steve the next day, James decided. Just to talk about things, no pressure, and offer to do anything he could to help them out.

That's what friends were for, after all.

_to be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about the Atlanta Hawks – I picked that team to meet Clint’s love of birds as well as to match James’ Ranger background – based out of Fort Benning in Georgia, they were close to Atlanta and hey, sports is a great bonding exercise.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter may be loosely based on my three-year-old brother’s decision to pack himself up in his snowsuit and walk out of daycare and the four miles to my mother’s workplace through a prairie snowstorm (in a very busy part of the city, I might add) and when my mother finally called the daycare to ask wtf her baby was doing standing in the middle of her restaurant, they didn't even know he was gone.
> 
> He grew up to be a musician so I guess he’s okay.


	7. Round Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Round Midnight by Miles Davis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIgLt7LAZF0).

Hours after Natasha was in bed, James was in his office trying to catch up on work when he heard a knock at the front door.

James jerked upright, his hand going automatically to the knife tucked into the pen holder at the back of the desk. It was a half past midnight and people didn't just _drop by_ at this time of night.

Adrenaline pumping, James rose to his feet, knife held loose in his fingers. Natasha was asleep upstairs and it was after midnight, and someone had knocked on his front door.

Quickly, James ducked out of his office and moved across the floor. Girding himself for a fight, he leaned around the wall jamb to look through the glass.

Steve Rogers stood on his doorstep, Clint sleeping on his shoulder.

"What the fuck?" James hurried across the floor. Tossing the knife onto the hall table, James quickly deactivated the front door alarm and opened the inner, then outer door. Cold night air blasted into the vestibule. "Are you okay?" James demanded in a whisper.

"Yeah," Steve said, but he didn't sound convincing. Behind Steve, the red lights of a taxi faded down the street.

"Get in here," James said, holding the door for Steve. One of Clint's socks had fallen off, and his little bare foot poked out of the blanket Steve had used to cover him. Just the sight made James feel the cold deep in his bones. "Is Clint okay? Is he sick?"

Steve was inside now, and James gratefully closed the doors and rearmed the alarm. "Clint's fine," Steve said. He smoothed down the blanket over Clint's back. The boy sighed in his sleep, long eyelashes fluttering on his cheek.

"Come on," James said. "You're nuts, running around the city with a kid at this hour." Putting his hand on Steve's back, he corralled Steve up the stairs, to the guest room across the hall from Natasha's bedroom. He switched on the light to reveal the small, tidy room, with a twin bed against the wall.

Leaving Steve to settle Clint, James went to the linen closet to retrieve a blanket suitable for the chill of the early summer night, all the while wondering what the hell was going on, why Steve had brought his sleeping son all the way across Brooklyn at this time of night.

Speculation was useless; and he'd get it out of Steve soon enough. James pulled a cotton blanket off the shelf and hurried back to the guest room. Steve had put Clint to bed and pulled the sheet up to the boy's chin. Clint himself was still dead to the world.

"Here," James whispered. Steve took the offered blanket and covered Clint, tucking the ends of the blanket around him.

Once Clint was secured, Steve just stood staring at his son, distress clear on the man's face.

"Come on," James said in Steve's ear. "We can talk downstairs."

"Yeah." After a moment, Steve reached into his pocket for Clint's hearing aid. He carefully placed the hearing aid on the bedside table, then followed James to the door where he switched off the overhead light.

"Is he going to wake up anytime soon?" James asked quietly.

"Probably not," Steve said, just as softly. "He fell asleep late, but who knows."

James went across the hall and noiselessly opened Natasha's door. The girl was fast asleep, sprawled on her stomach, one hand clutching the ear of her favorite teddy bear. James went over to the toy box and picked up Natasha's second-favorite bear. He carried that out of the room, careful to not disturb Natasha's slumber. Leaving her door open a crack, James went back across the hall and handed the bear to Steve.

"In case Clint wakes up."

Without comment, Steve took the bear and recrossed the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and set the bear next to Clint's outstretched hand. He stayed there for a little while, watching Clint sleep, while James leaned against the door and waited.

Finally, Steve bent over and pressed a kiss to the top of Clint's head, then stood and made his way out of the room.

James and Steve headed downstairs in silence. At the foot of the stairs, James paused and looked at Steve. "You on the run from the cops or something?"

"No," Steve said, annoyance breaking through the weight of emotions he'd been carrying around. "Look, Bucky, I didn't mean to crash in here like this but…" he swallowed. "It's just…"

James put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Aw, shut up," he said, giving Steve's shoulder a shake. "Your boy's safe, and you need something to drink. You want some coffee?"

"You got anything to go in that?"

"I got some whisky that'll strip paint off the walls." James let his hand drop and led Steve into the kitchen. "But it'll knock you out same as the expensive stuff."

"I never got into whisky," Steve said. He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table where he could watch James. "Peggy, she was into that stuff but I could never tell what the big deal was."

"Who's Peggy?" James asked as he set about making a fresh pot of coffee. With the day he'd had, he hadn't gotten around to donning his prosthetic arm after Steve and Clint left, but he was used to moving around the kitchen in his one-armed state.

Steve picked up the little ceramic saltshaker and rolled it between his fingertips. "You remember when I told you I met Sharon when I was dating her cousin? That was Peggy."

There was a lot of weight in the way Steve talked about the woman, something more than James would expect from a casual girlfriend in college. "What did she think when you hooked up with Sharon?"

Steve set the saltshaker on the table. "We were pretty much finished by then," he said. "You know, in another lifetime, Peggy could have been the one."

James' stomach contracted unpleasantly at the thought of anyone being Steve's soul mate. "What happened?" he asked, keeping his face averted from Steve's gaze.

"We met at the wrong time, I think." Steve stood up to join James at the counter. "I was in England on exchange from college and Peggy was taking political science. We tried to make it work but we had our eyes on different prizes."

James tried to picture Steve as some young punk college kid, and couldn't reconcile it with the large man at his side. "When was this?"

"Uh, my junior year, so 2002."

In fall of 2002, James had been in Ranger training, one of the cohort's youngest trainees. The physical work had been grueling, but summers and weekends spent working for the family's construction firm had kept James strong; his high school sports training in track and lacrosse had made him fast. It had been far harder to navigate the personal tensions with the other men, all of whom had been older than James.

But he'd spent his high school years in the closet of a Brooklyn public high school, and James knew how to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and his eyes on the end goal.

All in all, James couldn't imagine a more different way to spend 2002 than being in art school in London with some poli sci girlfriend.

"Sorry it didn't work out," James said, pushing off the counter. He pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and then went into the back of the freezer for the bottle of cheap whisky.

"I'm where I'm supposed to be," Steve said as James came back. "I've got Clint now, and a good place, a good job."

James handed Steve the bottle. "Is that why you come knocking on my front door at the ass-end of the day?"

Steve picked up the coffee pot and left James to bring the mugs to the table. "Like you've never had a shit parenting day."

"Yeah, I had some." James went back to the fridge to get the cream. "Not a lot recently, but when Nat was young."

"Tell me about them."

Steve's tone was more surprising than the request itself. James came back to the table and set the cream bottle down beside the sugar bowl, then he sat across the table from Steve while he thought about it. If the request had come from anyone else, James might have thought they were looking to feel better about their parenting skills by hearing how James screwed up with Natasha, but that wasn't Steve's way.

"Okay, if you want," James said. "You know Nat was in the hospital when I first met her."

"Yeah." Steve poured the coffee with a steady hand.

"It took a while for her to get better, long enough for the social workers to do all their checks on me and approve me as a foster parent. I ended up bringing her home when she was about six months old." James added a dollop of cream to his coffee. "It was okay, she was sleeping in long stretches then, and she was okay with me feeding her while she was in one of those little baby seat things, but she wasn't gaining weight like she should have."

Steve looked up sharply. "What happened?" he asked. "Was it the formula?"

"God knows," James said. He took a swallow from his cup, the coffee thick and rich in his mouth. "I think it was just a whole bunch of things. We tried donated breast milk, then a bunch of formulas in case it was a milk allergy, but Natasha just had such a rocky start to life the doc finally said that maybe she was having a hard time settling."

"She's okay now, though, right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She seemed to do good on one formula in the morning and another in the afternoon, and the docs had me giving her vitamins and cod liver oil and shit like that. She did okay, but the first few months were rough."

"Clint was just the opposite. He gained weight like it was nothing."

"Nat's doing okay now. Her pediatrician tells me I shouldn't weigh Natasha at home any more, though, because of eating disorders."

"She's _five_ ," Steve said, appalled.

"Like kids don't just take in everything that grown-ups say?"

"Clint doesn't." Steve was about to go on, then he visibly checked himself and sat back. "And some days I don't know if that's because he's an oblivious kid, or if the hearing aid isn't working and he can't hear a thing anyone's saying, _damn it_."

There they were at last, what James had been expecting ever since he'd seen Steve on his doorstep. "None of what's happening with Clint is your fault, Steve."

"I should have known something was wrong!" Steve burst out. He pushed his cup away, sloshing hot coffee all over the table.

James went for a tea towel and threw it across the kitchen at Steve. "Why, because of your deep and expansive knowledge of pediatric medicine?"

"Because he's my son and I should have known!" Steve wiped up the mess, then carried the sopping cloth to the sink to rinse out. "I took Clint to an optometrist this afternoon, and you know how long it took him to figure out something was wrong?"

Steve wrung the cloth out over and over again, and James couldn't stand to watch him. James pulled the tea towel out of Steve's hands and dropped it in the sink. "This isn't your fault."

He turned off the tap, and silence fell over the kitchen. Steve leaned on the counter, his hands pressed against the edge of the sink. "I've just been trying so hard to be a good dad for Clint," Steve said, so quietly his voice was nearly inaudible in spite of the post-midnight stillness. "I thought he was a bit scattered and wasn't interested in reading, that maybe he'd grow into it in first grade. He's not stupid, you know that."

There was a pleading in Steve's voice. James wanted to hug Steve, to tell him that Clint was going to be all right, but he worried that Steve might misinterpret his intentions. Instead, James put his hand on Steve's back and urged Steve over to the table. "I know Clint isn't stupid," James said as he pushed Steve into a chair. "He's a damned bright kid, knowing all those birds and dinosaur names."

"I can't believe he remembered what I told him about getting across town to Natasha's school," Steve said, rubbing his face in his hands. "I was thinking, tonight, after he fell asleep, about all those things about kids taken off the street and killed. Remember Etan Patz?"

"Steve, Clint's okay," James said quietly.

"He could have gotten grabbed or hit by a car or knocked off the sidewalk or—"

James reached out to wrap his hand around Steve's wrist. " _Steve_."

Steve stared down at James' hand, breathing hard.

"You listen to me, and listen to me good, all right?" James eased his grip, but didn't remove his hand. "Crime rates have never been so low in this city, understand? Fuck what the papers say and all that crap on Fox News. When Nat and Clint go outside, they're safer than we ever were."

"You can't know that," but Steve's voice had lost its feverish edge.

"I work with one of the FBI's best profilers," James said. "Well, former best. My point is, what Maria and I do, we know crime, we know where the real dangers are, we know the statistics. Clint was probably safer on the subway today than he is in school."

"This isn't making me feel any better," Steve said.

"Too bad." James let go of Steve's arm. "Clint's fine, and when he ran away from school today, that wasn't your fault. You can keep beating yourself up if you want to, but it's not going to make any difference."

After a moment, Steve lifted his head. "Clint's my entire life," he said, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat and went on. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"So you make sure he can take care of himself." James reached for the whisky bottle and tilted it toward Steve. "Open."

Steve obligingly removed the bottle's twist cap.

"You think I don't worry about Natasha?" James asked, pouring a healthy dose of alcohol into his half-empty mug. "You think I come back from Afghanistan and Iraq and I don't wake up with my heart in my throat about something happening to my little girl?"

It was the first time he had mentioned his military background to Steve and the starkness of it all made James' heart hammer in his chest, his mouth dry.

Steve was staring at him and it was too late for James to pull the words back now.

He took a swallow of the mixture in his cup, wincing at the taste. "I had a hard time driving Natasha anywhere," James said. "What happened to me, it was an IED while I was doing a ride-along; half the time after I got back I couldn't get into a car, let alone put Natasha into one. Most nights I slept on the floor outside her room, in case someone came for her, if someone got into the house and tried to take her."

"Jesus, Bucky, I didn't know it was that bad," Steve said.

James took another drink. "I dealt with it. I talked to this guy I know at the VA when I was getting checked up on my arm, he suggested I talk to someone. So I did."

"Did it help?"

"I guess. I can put Nat in the car and go for a drive without having a panic attack." Making a face at his mug, James pushed it away. "I can sleep in my own room. Of course, I've got a security system that locks this place down tighter than the White House, so that helps."

"She's going to be okay," Steve said. "You should take your own advice."

James ran his hand through his hair, pushing the strands out of his eyes. "Yeah, fuck that," James said darkly. "I tell you, if Nat had been the one to run away from school today, I don't know what I'd have done."

Steve reached for the whiskey bottle and poured a few ounces into his cup. "I keep trying to think of what I'd tell Sharon if something happened to Clint. Hell, I don't even know how to tell her about Clint's vision problems."

"The eye thing, that's easy." James stood, took his cup to the sink, and dumped the foul mixture down the drain. "You go, ' _hey Sharon, turns out Clint's having a bit of trouble seeing so I'm going to take him to get glasses_ '. See? Easy."

"There's more to it than that," Steve insisted.

James rested his hip against the counter, stretching to ease out a kink in his spine. "You can always tack on, ' _because you weren't here_ '."

"No," Steve said immediately. "Me and Sharon – it's not like that, her not being here."

James took in the defensive set to Steve's shoulders, the obstinate expression on his face. "Sorry," he said, and the tension drained away from Steve in an instant.

"Me and Sharon, deciding I was going to take care of Clint… we both made that choice," Steve said. "When I told Abraham, you know, Dr. Erskine, he was happy for me and all that. There wasn't anyone else on my side to give a damn, but Sharon's parents were pissed off. They tried to convince her that if she couldn't raise Clint, then they should. They were pretty insistent."

"That's bullshit."

"I know." Steve rubbed his hands over his face. "It wasn't that Sharon didn't want to raise Clint, it's just that her job is important to her, and she's young, she's trying to build her career, you know?"

"What if she changes her mind?" James asked, returning to the table. "You know, comes back and wants back in Clint's life?"

"We talked about that." Steve leaned back in his chair. "When she came back to visit when Clint was three. I told her if she ever wanted to move back to New York, fine, we'd figure out how we could parent Clint together, but I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere."

"Good."

"Yeah." Steve sighed, looking completely exhausted. "Now I just need to figure out how to get through tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"Well, my son's still suspended from school, but that's okay because he has an appointment with the most expensive pediatric ophthalmologist in the tri-state area."

"Your insurance going to cover that?"

A brief flash of amusement crossed Steve's face. "One of the bonuses for working for an off-shoot of Stark Industries is that the health insurance is platinum. Money-wise we're fine."

"But is this doctor guy any good?"

"Yeah. Bruce, he's a friend, he recommends this guy highly. Which is good because Tony pulled some major strings to get Clint in tomorrow."

"Money talks."

"And Stark money shouts." The smile slid off Steve's lips. "I don't know what I'll do if Clint needs surgery or something like that."

"Hey, don't go borrowing trouble against tomorrow," James said, kicking Steve under the table. "They can do amazing things with glasses these days. You'll see."

"Do you actually know that, or are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Would I do that?" James protested. "This guy I knew, got caught in the face with some shrapnel in '07. Lost one eye, the other had bad stuff happen to the cornea. Anyway, a few years ago he got some surgery to one eye and you know what?"

"It was a modern-day miracle?"

"Well, no, but at least he can see now, well enough to walk on his own and read again. If they can do that for a busted-up Marine from Pirtleville, they can do it for your little boy. Especially when he's got Tony Stark's millions behind him."

"Billions."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Nah, we don't need Tony's money," Steve said. "I've been saving everything I have for Clint, and Sharon sends money every month. But for something like this, I've got a rainy day fund."

James raised his eyebrows. He didn't know how much pediatric eye surgery might cost, but he doubted that dimes in a coffee can could pay for it.

"You pay any attention to financial news?"

"No."

"I do, hazard of the job. Did you hear a few years ago when Tony stepped down as head of Stark Industries and moved Pepper Potts into the role?"

"I don't live under a rock, Steve. Even I heard about that one."

Steve smiled again, and it was no longer an innocent expression. "Stark Industries stock plummeted, lost nearly thirty percent worth overnight."

"Didn't someone say that might plunge the world back into a Thirties-style depression?" James asked.

"Yeah, they did. So I pulled together every penny I had, even asked Abraham for a loan, and bought all the stock I could."

James sat up. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he demanded. "Isn't Stark stock up double now from where it was before the crash?"

"One hundred and ten percent," Steve said smugly. "With Tony in R&D and Pepper in charge, the only way the company could have gone was up."

"Damn." James stared at Steve, trying to figure out if the man was joking. It didn't look like it. "And I fucking paid for you and Clint at the zoo last month."

"Hey, I'm going to get it next time!" Steve protested.

"Sure you were." James picked up the coffee pot. "Warm you up?"

It was a slip of the tongue, brought on by the lateness of the hour and the fading burn of the alcohol in his stomach, and the sudden realization of what he had just said brought James painfully alert. But Steve just shook his head with that easy smile of his. "I'm good."

Heart pounding in his throat, James put the coffee pot back on the table and let himself slump into the chair. Damn it, he needed to be more _careful_.

Meanwhile, Steve was rubbing his eyes, a gesture James had seen in Clint earlier that morning. "I should get going," he said. "I don't know how the hell I'm going to find a cab at this hour, though."

"Don't be a dumbass. You can't go moving Clint around at this time of night," James countered. "I can make you up a bed, we've got enough blankets."

For a long moment, Steve didn't say anything. Then, finally, he rested his hand on the tabletop and tapped his fingertips on the wood. "You know," he said, his voice shaking just the tiniest bit. "When I got in the cab tonight with Clint, I needed to get the hell away from all the noise in my head, all those things that might have happened to him, all those things that still might."

"Why'd you end up here?"

Steve looked down at his fingers. "You understand Clint," he said. "You don't treat him like he's stupid because of his hearing aid, you listen to his stories and you let him do whatever he's interested in without making a big deal out of it." Taking a deep breath, Steve sat up straight. "I just needed to talk to someone who gives a damn about my boy, you know?"

"Of course I give a damn about Clint," James said, a stirring of anger in his chest at anyone who had ever treated Clint less than the amazing little boy he was. "He's a fine kid."

"When we left this afternoon and you said you were there to talk if I ever needed it…" Steve shook his head. "I tell you, Bucky, tonight I needed it."

"I meant it," James said, standing. He walked around the table and waited until Steve stood also. "But next time, you need to call me before you come knocking at my door in the middle of the fucking night. Nearly gave me a heart attack, you jerk."

Steve smiled and put his hand on James' right shoulder. "I will. And thank you."

* * *

By the time James got Steve settled in the guest room, it was nearly two in the morning. Clint was still deeply asleep, so Steve made up a bed on the floor with the spare blankets from James' closet. The men didn't say much, and soon James was closing the door behind him and leaving Steve to get some sleep.

On quiet feet, James went to Natasha's room. She had rolled onto her side, her long red hair a tangle around her head. Her breathing was harsher than James liked, this early in the summer. James bent over to kiss Natasha's forehead, then turned on the humidifier before leaving her to sleep.

From there, James walked down the hallway to the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Sometimes, when he saw his reflection, James didn't recognize himself. Other times he wasn't so lucky. Now, at two in the morning in his white tiled bathroom, James looked at the reflection of an old man hiding behind a young man's skin. Dark circles under his eyes offset his pallor, a few-days' beard growth adding to his disheveled appearance.

When he was young, his mother would have tanned his hide for looking so disreputable. In the Army, there were standards and it was easier to stay shaved and shorn than to think about it.

But James was a long way from the Rangers, and even further from his childhood days. Life was different now, and it wasn't just his arm, wasn't just being a single father.

James was a different person.

He sighed, and the sound was loud and harsh in the cold room. James splashed cold water on his face to pull him out of the unwelcome memories. He wiped his face on a towel, turned off the light, and slipped out of the bathroom to pad down the hall to his bedroom.

He didn't bother turning on the light, just shucked off his jeans and pulled on the pajama bottoms and t-shirt he'd left on the floor that morning. He sat on the edge of his bed and tried to compose himself to sleep, but there were too many strands pulling at him to settle.

Natasha was safe in her bed, but Steve and Clint were in the house and that was not usual and James couldn't just forget that. What if either of them needed something? What if Natasha needed something? He couldn't just _sleep_ when there were other people in his house.

He was overthinking things, he told himself as he got under the bedcovers. Natasha was sleeping and Clint was sleeping and Steve would be soon enough. The house was locked up tight, the alarm was on, and no danger could come upon them in the house that night.

James got up, walked across his room, and opened his bedroom door wide. He didn't sleep with his door open, not ever, but if Natasha needed him, if Steve or Clint needed him, he could hear them better this way.

James went back to bed, ears straining for noise in the big house. Over the usual nighttime sounds of the house gently settling, there were faint sounds of movement coming from the guest room. Steve, settling down, James told himself, as the children were asleep.

Unable to close his eyes, James pulled the blankets up to his chest. Not since he'd brought Natasha home had anyone else spent the night in the house. But this wasn't just _anyone_ , this was Steve and his little boy.

Steve, who had come to James' door that night when he didn't have anywhere else to turn. Steve, who had trusted James to watch his son after Clint had run away from school that morning. Steve, who had once been James' best friend in the whole world.

James rolled over onto his side and looked at the red numbers on the clock. He had to be up in four hours to get Natasha ready for school before heading into the city for his physiotherapy appointment. Four hours, and he couldn't even close his eyes.

James stared at the numbers ticking over for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

* * *

James was ripped awake by Natasha screaming.

James jumped to his feet and grabbed the baseball bat by the side of his bed, distantly registering the morning light filtering in through the bedroom curtains. Brandishing the bat, James ran down the hall towards Natasha's room, but the sounds weren't coming from her room, they were coming from the guest room, and now another screaming voice joined in and James was in the doorway and turning on the light to reveal Natasha and Clint jumping up and down on the bed, screaming at the top of their little lungs, while Steve struggled in the blankets on the floor, looking as terrified as James felt.

"What the hell?" James gasped, putting down the bat. "It's five fucking thirty!"

"Clint's here!" Natasha said joyously, still jumping up and down. "Daddy, Clint's here!"

"Why are you screaming?" James asked. He moved into the room, stepping over Steve's legs to get to the bed. "Stop jumping!"

Natasha sat abruptly, Clint following suit. Natasha leaned over to wrap her friend in a big morning hug. "Daddy, can Clint stay here forever?"

"Not if you two keep giving me a heart attack!"

"What are you doing here?" Natasha asked Clint, already ignoring her father.

"I don't know!" Clint exclaimed. "I woke up and I was here!" He crawled to the edge of the bed and looked down at Steve. "Daddy, do we live here now?"

"No," Steve said, finally freeing himself from the tangled blanket. "We still have a home, Clint."

Natasha slid off the bed, tugging on Clint's pajama leg. "Daddy, can we watch cartoons?" she asked hopefully.

James slumped against the doorframe, his heart thundering with unused adrenaline. "Do whatever you want," he said.

"Come on," Natasha said to Clint. "We can go watch ponies."

"Okay." Clint jumped off the bed and landed with a thud. He picked his hearing aid up off the dresser and fit it into his ear with the ease of long-practice. "Let's go!"

The children thundered out of the room, the pitter-patter of tiny feet loud in the large house. In the whirlwind of their departure, James was left staring at Steve. "I think I lost ten years off my life," Steve said, hauling himself to his feet.

"Fuck that, I'm still having a heart attack," James told him. Turning around James stumbled back down the hallway to his bedroom and fell onto the mattress, already reaching for the covers before he registered that Steve was on his heels. "What?"

"I'm sorry the kids woke you," Steve said, lingering in the doorway.

Later, James would say it was because he was functioning on adrenaline and three hours' sleep. "Fuck that," James muttered, punching his pillow. "Unless you woke them up and told them to start screaming, drop it. Now lie down or something, I don't have to be up for another thirty-seven minutes."

He rolled onto his side, putting his left arm stump under his pillow. After a moment, the mattress dipped as Steve laid down beside James. On top of the blankets. "You remember us doing this when we were kids?" Steve asked, so close.

James put his right arm over his head. "Yeah, and I remember you used to talk as much back then too, punk."

Distantly, the sounds of the television drifted up the stairs, so quiet that the sound of Steve's breathing almost masked it. Even outside the blankets, Steve's body was warm against James' back.

As the adrenaline faded, as James felt himself being dragged back to sleep in the soft morning light, all James could think was that the children were safe, and that Steve was there, and that was enough for now.

He would have to get up soon, but for now, he could sleep for just a few minutes more.

Just a few more minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Etan Patz](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disappearance_of_Etan_Patz) was a six-year-old boy who went missing in New York in the 1979.


	8. Central Park West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Central Park West by John Coltrane](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFzLLoBOlCA).

* * *

"Daddy?"

James jerked awake. He tried to roll over, but a large body was in the way and James was trapped under a fold of the blanket.

"Daddy, do I get to stay home from school today?"

James sat up. Natasha and Clint stood in the doorway, both still in their pajamas, but now the light shining through the curtains was stronger.

Then James saw the clock.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, kicking the blanket free. When Steve didn't move fast enough, James rolled over the man, feet hitting the ground hard. "Nat, you're late for school!"

"I know!" Natasha told him. "You slept a long time."

"Come on!" James reached for Natasha's hand and pulled her down the hallway. "Get into your uniform, we're late!"

"Can't I stay home with Clint?" Natasha protested, but she ran into her bedroom and went to her closet for her school clothes.

"No you can't, I pay good money to that school and you aren't going to miss a day!" James grabbed Natasha's backpack and tossed it on her bed. "Homework, gym clothes, move!"

Steve appeared in the doorway, Clint on his shoulders. "Anything I can do?" he asked.

"Explain to me why my alarm didn't go off?" James demanded. "No, Nat, those socks don't match!"

"But I like them this way!"

In a few minutes, Natasha was dressed in her school clothes. James twisted her long hair up into a bun without combing her hair out, and asked her to hold the hair in place while he secured a clip.

"I can make her breakfast," Steve offered from the hallway. "Unless you're going to drop her off in your pajamas."

"No time," James said, brushing past him.

"But Daddy, I'm hungry!" Natasha wailed.

"Peanut butter sandwich for the road," Steve said before James could reply. "Go on. Change."

Leaving Steve to corral the children downstairs, James dashed back into his bedroom, cursing himself the whole time. How had he fallen asleep? He had never been so late in taking Natasha to school, not once. A single father had appearances to keep up, and keeping his little girl properly dressed and on time was the absolute bottom of the barrel on expectations.

Moving with more speed than grace, James pulled on his metal arm, jerking the straps into place before pulling on a t-shirt. After stepping into the previous day's jeans, he rooted around the bed for his phone. He found it on the floor underneath a spare pillow, the tiny chimes of the alarm still pinging gently.

It was only then that the implications of the morning finally hit him.

Steve Rogers had spent the night in his bed.

Not the whole night, and it had been on top of the covers, but the realization rocked James back onto his heels. Weeks of a harmless crush on Steve, and James had been so sleep-deprived and hyped up from the children's screaming that he hadn't realized what he was doing when he had invited Steve into his bed.

The next moment, any confusion about what _might have been_ was knocked away as cleanly as if James had been sucker-punched.

Steve didn't know he was gay. Steve had fallen into bed with him and Steve didn't know James was gay.

Oh god, what would Steve think?

Years in high school and the Army, of listening to straight boys pull the _no homo_ card, of freaking out at the thought of sharing a locker room or tent with _some little faggot_ and James just listened to it all, kept his head down, didn't speak up, stayed hidden to protect his place on the team, his place in the military.

Now, James didn't know what Steve would do when he found out that James was gay. That a gay man had suggested they share a bed for a few hours.

James could barely breathe around the ball of ice in his stomach, at the thought of what the word _faggot_ would sound like coming out of Steve's mouth.

What had he _done_?

James got to his feet. He would walk downstairs, get Natasha, drive her to school. He could let himself worry about the rest later.

Right now, he had to concentrate on getting Natasha to school. That was the only thing he could think about. His daughter had to go to school.

Slowly, James walked down the stairs to the main level. In the kitchen, the children were talking excitedly with Steve. James stopped in the doorway to watch for a moment.

Steve was helping Natasha wrap half a sandwich in a paper napkin, while Clint sat on the counter and munched on a piece of toast. Steve was smiling at the children, talking with them in his low voice.

James couldn't believe how badly he had screwed everything up.

He cleared his throat. "Ready to go, Nat?"

"Uh huh." Natasha wandered across the kitchen to her father. Her face was clean, her hair neat, and Steve had helped her tuck her polo shirt into her skirt. Her backpack hung on her shoulders and she looked presentable. "Steve made me a peanut butter and cheese sandwich."

"Why?"

"It's good!" Natasha took James' hand. "Daddy, we gotta go."

Steve wiped the crumbs off the counter and into the sink. "Do you want us to take off too?"

James cast around desperately, trying to think of some reason to keep Steve around, to hold off the inevitable just a little bit longer. "Your appointment in the city, when is that?"

"Ten."

"Stay here, I'll drop Nat off, then come pick you up and drive you to your place. It'll take longer on the train at this time of day."

The gratitude and sheer relief on Steve's face drove a spike of guilt into James' stomach. "Would it be imposing on you too much if I gave Clint a bath in the meantime?" Steve asked. "I'm pretty sure he still has dirt up his nose from yesterday."

"I don't have dirt up my nose!" Clint said indignantly around a mouthful of toast.

"Go ahead," James said. "There's extra towels in the closet."

Natasha pulled on James' hand. "I'm going to miss story time," she said.

Right. James scooped Natasha up and carried her over to the counter. "Say goodbye to Clint."

Natasha leaned out and patted Clint on the cheek. "You can use my strawberry bubbles in the bath if you want," she said generously. Clint appeared less than enthusiastic about this suggestion, but James was already on his way out of the kitchen and out the front door with Natasha in hand.

In the car on the way to school, Natasha asked, "Daddy, why did you sleep so late?"

James wished he had an answer to that. Instead, he said, "I went to bed very late last night, and I didn't hear the alarm go off."

"Oh." A moment of silence as James negotiated the intersection, then, "Why was Steve in bed with you?"

James' fingers tightened around the wheel. For a brief moment, he could almost feel the heat from Steve's body warm against his back. "Because," James said, his heart fluttering in his chest. "The bed was nicer than the floor after you and Clint woke us up this morning."

"But Daddy," Natasha said. "Why did you make him sleep on the floor before?"

"So Clint wouldn't be scared if he woke up in the night," James said, almost desperately. "Did you remember everything for school?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said, finally distracted. "I wish Clint could come to school with me. I like Clint. He's my friend."

"Today Clint has to go see a doctor about his eyes," James told her as he pulled into a spot outside the school. "Then he gets to go back to school on Wednesday."

"He doesn't want to go to the doctor," Natasha informed James. "When he went yesterday the man was mean."

"How was the man mean?" James asked as he killed the engine.

"He made Clint look at lots of things and it made Clint get a headache." Natasha waited until James came around to the back to let her out of her seatbelt before she continued. "That's why Clint doesn't like to look at tiny things close up."

"When did he tell you that?" James asked, slamming the door behind them and pulling Natasha down the street at a fast trot.

"This morning," Natasha said. "We watched My Little Pony and I wanted to sit close but Clint wanted to sit far away and he told me."

"Clint's going to have Steve with him the whole time," James said, turning in at the school's doorway. "Steve isn't going to let him get hurt, any more than I'd let you get hurt."

"Okay," Natasha said, the tone of her voice making it clear that she didn't quite believe James.

James had to check in at the school reception to get Natasha a late slip, then they were escorted into the classroom wing by one of the receptionists. Knowing what he did about St. Ursula's security measures, James was a little surprised that Clint had managed to make it all the way to Natasha's kindergarten class without being stopped. Making a mental note to ask Natasha's teacher when he picked the girl up that afternoon, James stopped Natasha outside her classroom door and knelt down.

"You have a good day at school." He kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry that I slept in and made you late."

"It's okay, Daddy, you can make a mistake once," Natasha said graciously. She flung her arms around James' neck and gave him a squeeze.

James hugged her back with his right arm, leaving the metal prosthesis to hang loose at his side. "Don't worry about Clint, okay? He'll be fine."

"Okay." Natasha stepped back, took the late slip from the receptionist, and opened the door to her classroom. From the hallway, James could see that the students were seated around Mrs. Singh on the floor, engrossed in story time. Natasha bolted across the room, not even pausing to take off her backpack or coat, and collapsed onto the mats next to her classmates.

Mrs. Singh looked towards the door, and gave James and the receptionist a brief smile before returning to the story.

James rose on creaking knees and looked at the receptionist, a young woman hardly older than Skye. "Thanks for walking us back here," he said. "Nat was worried she was going to miss the story."

The woman gave James a smile as she walked him to the door, making small talk the whole time, and soon James was back in the car and on the drive home.

The house was still as he closed the door behind him. Distant sounds of the shower drifted down the stairs, so James tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa and went up to see how Steve was faring.

Clint was in the hallway outside the bathroom, playing with Natasha's spare teddy bear. The bathroom door was closed, the shower running inside.

"Hey," James said, drawing Clint's attention. "Is your dad still in the shower?"

Clint nodded, his blond hair standing up in wet spikes. "I wanted to go in Natasha's room but I got told no 'cause she's not here," he said sadly.

"You dad tell you that?" When Clint nodded, James crouched down. "Natasha's not here, but I think she'd be okay if you went in to poke around."

Clint brightened. He climbed to his feet and dashed off down the hall, the teddy bear bouncing along after him as he ran into Natasha's room.

James stood and went over to the bathroom door. "Hey, I'm back," he called through the wood. "Get your ass in gear."

"Be out in a minute!" Steve called.

Shaking his head, James went to his room. He was trying to not think about Steve in his shower, naked and wet and warm, lathering James' soap on those big shoulders, on his arms, moving easily in those artist's hands…

Swallowing hard, James ruthlessly pushed those thoughts away. He had no right to think about Steve like that, not when Steve had spent the morning in James' bed while under the false impression that James was straight.

He should tell Steve, he thought as he pulled the sheets over the mattress. There was always the chance that Steve would slug him across the jaw, but he should know exactly what he was dealing with.

James had made a promise to himself, one day not long after he brought Natasha home, that he wasn't going to lie about who he was anymore. He wasn't in the Rangers, and being gay or straight made no difference to Nick Fury, who'd had the final say on Natasha's adoption. Sure, James wasn't about to go shouting it from the rooftops, but he wasn't going to hide the fact that he liked guys.

Only it hadn't really mattered much, so far – James was too busy with Natasha and with work to think about dating, and he didn't have any interest in most of the guys he met day-to-day. He hadn't been on a date since he'd adopted Natasha, but then he hadn't dated in the Army either.

Not that any of that mattered with Steve; having a crush on the man was of absolutely no importance. Steve would probably say it was no big deal, but then he'd hesitate to call James back on things about the kids; would say that Clint was too busy to play with Natasha, so sorry, and that would be the end of that. James had seen it before with some of the parents in Natasha's preschool. They didn't want some faggot around their children, but they were too outwardly polite to say anything to James' face.

That was just the way it was.

Down the hall, the shower stopped. James plumped the pillows before he put them on the bed, then went to see what Clint was up to.

The little boy had settled himself in the big armchair in Natasha's room, surrounding himself with stuffed animals. He held one of Natasha's picture books and pointed at the pages as he talked to the animals. He was so engrossed with what he was doing that James backed away quietly, leaving him be.

The bathroom door opened and Steve emerged, fully clothed, in a cloud of steamy air. "Hey," he said, smiling brightly when he saw James. "Did you have any problems with getting Natasha to school?"

"No," James said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Everything okay here?"

"Yeah," Steve said, running his hand through his damp hair. "We should get going, otherwise we're going to miss our train into Manhattan from our place."

"I can drive you into the city," James said, words coming out of his mouth without his brain engaging first. "I mean, Clint can't wear his pajamas to the ophthalmologist."

"I couldn't impose," Steve said, his eyes wide.

"Shut up," James said uncomfortably. "It's quicker. And it's my fault that we overslept."

"That would be great," Steve said. "Thanks Bucky, it means a lot." While James tried to think of something to say that didn't sound too stupid, Steve went looking for his son. "Clint, what did I say about going into Natasha's room?" Steve asked, standing in Natasha's doorway, and that got James moving.

"I said it was okay," James said, just as Clint exclaimed, "James said I could!"

"Oh," Steve said, backing down instantly as Clint ran out of the room to him. "There you go."

"I wouldn't do anything to make Natasha sad!" Clint said, glaring at his father.

"I know." Steve scooped Clint up effortlessly and ruffled his hair. "I'm sorry I thought you would."

Clint leaned in and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay," he said graciously.

"Good." Steve patted Clint on the back as he turned to James. "Shall we go?"

* * *

The journey to south Brooklyn, then into Manhattan, was actually rather pleasant. On noticing how restless Clint was in the backseat, James turned on one of Natasha's audio books for the boy to listen to, and the _Wizard of Oz_ held Clint's rapt attention on the drive into the city.

Steve was in a talkative mood, and he and James conversed about a number of things as James navigated through the morning traffic. James got to hear about Steve's adventures in art school and then how he managed to find himself working for Stark Industries philanthropic wing. In return, James told a few anecdotes of his time in the Rangers, edited heavily for both the man in the passenger seat as well as the little boy in the back.

Too soon, James was dropping Clint and Steve off at the subway station near the hospital where he had his physio appointment. As he tried to come up with some way to say how much he had enjoyed the drive, Steve surprised him by saying, "Give me a call when you're done, I'll let you know where we're at."

"Okay," James said, too blindsided to say no. "Take care of yourself."

In the meantime, Clint was clutching his seatbelt. "I want to listen to the story!" he said as Steve tried to pry him out of the backseat.

"You can listen to it later," Steve said, trying to get leverage to haul Clint from the vehicle. "We don't want to make Bucky late for his appointment."

Clint responded to this by flopping over bonelessly, allowing Steve to manhandle the boy up and out of the car.

"Thanks again," Steve said, smiling at James. "See you soon."

"Yeah," James said, and drove off before he said something stupid.

Parking was expensive enough to make James wince, and he was late, but for once he had a hard time focusing on the exercises. He couldn't get Steve out of his head. It wasn't just the worry that Steve would pull a gay freak-out on him because of that morning; it was also what Steve had said the previous night about raising Clint on his own, about Sharon, about his life growing up in New Jersey and his life in college.

What Steve had been through over the last twenty years was worlds away from what James had experienced, but he found himself wanting to know more, to hear anything Steve would tell him about life and living and just anything, just talking with him, being with him, and it was in the middle of a balance exercise that it suddenly occurred to James that this wasn't just some stupid crush, that he was falling in love with Steve.

The realization tipped him off the balance ball and he stumbled, swearing loudly. The physiotherapist helped him back up on the ball, but it didn't really make a difference. James didn't know how to shove that realization out of his head, didn't know what to do.

The last thing he needed was something as fucking hopeless as being in love with Steve Rogers.

He managed to get through the rest of his session without hurting himself. The doctor commended James on his first run of the week, and suggested that the man make a routine of it as the weather improved. James said yes just to get his metal arm back and was out in the lobby in a few minutes.

James told himself he should go home, leave Steve and Clint to their business, get back to work and pretend that everything was normal.

He'd just text Steve to tell him that he had to go home. Reaching into his pocket, James saw that he had one message from Steve.

_Clint and me stopped for a motivational hot chocolate :) :)_

Below the message was a small snapshot of Clint holding a small hot chocolate cup and grinning widely.

James swiped down to get to the message box. _i gotta move my car_ , he wrote.

 _Take it to Stark Tower,_ came Steve's nearly instantaneous reply. _If you go in off Lexington there's employee parking. I'll tell the attendant that you're with me. Then come find us I'll send u the address_

That wasn't what James had wanted, not at all. He stood staring down at his phone until someone jostled him from behind. _fine,_ James typed, and shoved his phone into his pocket. He'd take the car to Stark Tower, go make sure Clint was doing okay with the eye appointment, and then head out. Steve could take Clint home on the subway later.

* * *

In spite of Steve's assurances about parking, James drove up to Stark Tower with trepidation. He turned in at the employee parking entrance and drove slowly up to the gate.

The security guard in the booth leaned out. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, Steve Rogers told me I could park here."

The man consulted his computer. "Name?"

James gave it.

The guard's face cleared. "Sure thing. Hang on." He handed James a clear plastic card with the word GUEST stamped in big letters on it. "Drive over to the blue circle and park it."

Rather dubious, James put the jeep in first gear and moved it across the parking bay to the indicated blue circle. He turned off the engine and grabbed his phone and the guest card, then pulled his keys out of the ignition to give to the valet.

Retracing his steps to the booth, he looked around for someone, but there was only the guard, looking amused. "Check this out," the guard called, just as a metallic shifting sound began, and the blue circle where James had parked began to descend into the floor, taking the jeep with it.

James let out a whistle. "Stark really made that automated parking technology work, didn't he? I heard rumors of something like that a year ago."

"It's patented but SI isn't looking to franchise," said the guard. "One of Stark's new green initiatives, saving space in the heart of the city."

"Nice." James stuck his hands in his pockets. "See you in a bit."

He went up to street level in a fancy elevator, swiping the guest card wherever he was told to do so. The Stark Industry lobby was bright and futuristic and James couldn't quite imagine Steve working in a building like this. Something more old-school, James thought idly as he texted Steve. Like a renovated loft or some old brownstone with faded brick and worn wooden floors, not this sort of spartan white expanse.

The ophthalmologist's office was towards the park, so James set his shoulders against the crowd and started walking. The medical building lobby looked more like a fancy hotel, and James double-checked the address before he stepped in the elevator and hit the button to the twenty-first floor.

The office's reception area was half-full of patients, and James was so used to Natasha's pediatrician office that he didn't register that most of them were children until the receptionist was guiding him into one of the rooms down the hall. By then, all James could do was to push that thought to the back of his mind as he was shown into a large comfortable room full of bright colors and toys, suitable for a young audience.

Steve sat by the wall, elbows on his knees and looking about as exhausted as James felt. Clint was across the room, playing with plastic toys.

"Hey," James said, closing the door behind him. "How's it going?"

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "Better than yesterday," he said in a subdued voice. "It's a lot for Clint to take in. I had to talk to him about the suspension and he's upset."

"I bet."

Across the room, Clint smashed one of the small toys against the others, before shoving them all away from him.

"Mind if I try?" James asked.

"Go ahead."

James walked across the room to where Clint sat. The boy didn't look up at him, but James could tell from the tense set of his shoulders that Clint knew he was there. 

James put his shoulder against the wall and slid down so he was sitting near Clint, but not so close that he was crowding the boy. "Hi Clint."

Clint picked up a toy truck and bashed it against a toy piano. "Hi," he said in a plaintive wail.

"Your dad said you're upset."

"The school thinks I'm bad," Clint said, sniffling hard. He ran the truck over the piano keys, sending a cacophony of noise into the room. "I don't ever want to go back if they think I'm bad!"

"Don't listen to them, they're all idiots," James said bluntly. Clint sat bolt upright at this, barely noticing Steve's exclamation in the background. "You're not bad and because they messed up and are trying to push it onto you, that makes them idiots."

"Bucky, what are you doing?" Steve demanded, coming over to them.

"What, like I'm wrong?" James shot back. "They don't notice they're missing a kid and they try to turn it around on him so you don't sue them into bankruptcy." James moved around so he was facing Clint. "Clint, I'm going to tell you a secret about being bad, okay?"

Clint nodded, wide-eyed.

"Everyone makes mistakes," James said. "Each and every person everywhere on the planet has made mistakes in their life. If you make a mistake because you didn't know the right way to do something, that's not being bad."

"Like what?" Clint asked breathlessly.

James looked at Steve, who rolled his eyes as he sat down, pulling Clint onto his lap. "Well," James said, "If you went to eat a cupcake that was on the table, and you didn't know that it was someone else's cupcake, that's a mistake."

"What makes it bad?"

"If you knew that someone else had already picked that cupcake, but you ate it anyway even though you knew, that's bad." James held out his hands, one metal, one flesh. "Being bad needs intent and action." He waited as Clint put his hands on top of James'. "You have to know something is bad," and he raised his right hand, "And then you have to do something bad." He lifted his metal hand.

Clint considered this. "What if I didn't _know_ something was bad?"

James carefully wrapped his thumbs over Clint's small hands and gave them a soft shake. "You're almost six now. You're old enough now to look at a situation and to ask yourself if that's something you should do or not."

After a moment, Clint pulled his hands out of James', and climbed up onto Steve's leg, balancing with a hand in his father's hair. "Like what?"

"Like, if you were painting with Natasha, and you thought about pouring paint on her hair, and then did it, that would be bad because you know better. Even if no one told you, you can figure that out yourself."

"I won't pour paint on Natasha," Clint promised. "And I won't rub dirt in her hair or on her face and only on her shirt if she asks me to."

Steve put his arm around Clint and gave his son a hug. "Is that why you had so much dirt in your bellybutton yesterday?"

"Natasha gives good belly rubs." Clint stuck his finger into his mouth. "What if I don't know something was bad and I make a mistake?"

"You listen to what your dad or your teacher says to you and you don't do it again."

Clint pulled his finger out of his mouth. "Mrs. Anders tells me that I'm ruptive and tells me to stop but I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

James had a few choice words for this teacher of Clint's, but none of them were fit for a child's ears. "Tell her you need to know what to do right instead. Do you want to try?"

Clint nodded, slumping against Steve's shoulder and wrapping his arms around his father's neck. Steve put his hand against Clint's ribs to keep him steady.

"Okay, pretend I'm Mrs. Anders." James took a deep breath and raised his voice in a falsetto. "Clint Rogers, you are being disruptive! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Clint scrunched his face up. "Um."

"How about you ask what the right thing to do is," Steve prompted gently.

Clint took a deep breath. "What's the right thing to do?" he asked in a rush.

In his normal voice, James said, "That was pretty good. Want to try again?"

Clint nodded so hard his hair bounced.

They rehearsed this a few times until Clint was comfortable with asking the question of James' make-believe voice. Sensing the boy was getting restless, James held out his hand for a high five, then suggested that Clint tell him about the toys. This kept the boy and Steve both occupied until the doctor entered the room.

The doctor was an older man, grey hair and tan skin, like so many of Winterhill's security clients over the years. He put a small box on the table by the door and pulled up a low stool beside it.

Steve hustled Clint to his feet and tried to get him to move across the room, but Clint pulled away from his father and went back to the toys, turning his back on the doctor. Seeing the expression on Steve's face, James put out his hand. "Let me try, okay?" he said quietly.

Steve nodded, and went over to talk to the doctor while James crouched down next to Clint. "Hey Clint, can I ask a favor?"

Clint shrugged without looking up.

"You know, I'm not really good with doctors," James went on. "Sometimes, when I have to talk to a doctor, I get nervous. Would you be able to help me talk to this doctor?"

The sad thing was, even though James was trying to help the boy, nothing he'd said was a lie. Clint looked up and appeared to consider James' request. After a moment, he stood and held out his left hand.

James stood, took Clint's hand, and together they walked to the table where Steve and the doctor were speaking in quiet tones. When James sat down, Clint leaned against his leg and kept holding his hand tight.

"Hi Clint," the doctor said genially. "I was just telling your father that it looks like you're going to need glasses to help you with your reading."

"How does that sound?" Steve asked, putting his hand on Clint's back.

Clint gripped James' hand with both of his, squeezing tight. "Are you going to put knives in my eyes?" he asked.

Steve let out a pained breath, scooping Clint up and into his lap as the doctor said, "No, Clint, we are not going to do surgery. Your eyes just need a little help in getting you to focus on things up close, and we're going to give you glasses for that."

Steve hugged Clint tight, his face pressed against Clint's hair. Clint stared at the doctor for a long moment as he put his finger into his mouth. "I guess that's okay." Clint said.

"Good." The doctor smiled, his teeth white and even. "Now, the first thing we need to do is to make sure that we have the right prescription for you." He turned to the box, then paused. "But first, I have to warn you. When you try this on, you might look a little silly."

Clint pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop and stared at the doctor uncertainly for a moment. Then the corners of his lips started to turn up.

"Are you okay with that?" the doctor asked, removing a large set of spectacles from the box. "Some little boys have a problem with being silly."

"I can be silly," Clint said, smile growing as he ducked his face against Steve's shoulder.

"Well, that's good," the doctor declared. "Can you come over here?"

Clint slid off Steve's lap and walked confidently over to the doctor. "How do I be silly?"

"First off, let's get your dad to hold your hearing aid." To Steve, the doctor explained, "Most children's spectacle frames can be worn without impact on a hearing aid like Clint's, but this test set is a bit too big."

Clint pried his hearing aid off and held it out; James' hands were free and he took it before Clint dropped the thing. "Okay," Clint declared. "I'm ready."

The doctor got Clint to stand in front of a mirror, and then placed the unfolded glasses frame over Clint's ears. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Clint looked, and his mouth opened into a wide _O_ of surprise. With the large glasses frames covering nearly half his face, he did look ridiculous, but his expression of astonishment was so genuine that James didn't feel like laughing.

"Daddy!" Clint exclaimed. "It's not fuzzy!" The boy spun around and ran over to Steve, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He grabbed Steve and pulled at him until Steve got to his feet and followed Clint back to the mirror. Clint pointed at his reflection. "That's me!"

With a stomach-wrenching jerk, James realized that this was probably the first time that Clint had clearly seen his own reflection. His own face.

Eyes wet, Steve picked Clint up and kissed him on the cheek. "It sure is," Steve said. "My handsome little guy."

Clint stared at his reflection for a long minute. Then he wiggled around until he was looking at Steve. "You have a nice face," Clint said as he patted Steve's cheeks. "I seen it far away but now I seen it close up."

"I don't know," James said, needing to say something so he didn't start crying himself. "I think his nose is a little funny, what do you think?"

Clint ran his finger down Steve's nose. "I like it," he declared. "It's big."

With that, Clint turned back to the mirror to look at his reflection. The doctor caught Steve's attention, and the man set Clint on his feet and went to talk to the doctor. James moved over so he could lean against the wall beside the mirror. "Those are pretty neat glasses," James said. "How do they feel?"

Clint stuck his tongue out at his reflection. "They're heavy."

"I bet. But you know, real glasses are a lot lighter than all that metal. I bet we can even find some frames that are purple."

Clint smiled at this. "I like purple," he told James. "I like it a lot."

"I know."

Clint gave a nod, nearly sending the contraption on his head to the ground. Reaching out to steady him, James gave the boy a firm pat on the back. "I'm okay," Clint said, then went over to Steve. "Daddy," Clint said, interrupting Steve's conversation with the doctor. "Can I see Mommy?"

"Sure thing, buddy." Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket and did some swiping until he got to the right place. "Here's your mom."

Clint took the phone and held it up, close to his eyes, as he walked back to where James sat. The boy was so intent on the picture that he nearly walked into the wall; James reached up to steady him and Clint toppled into his lap. "This is my Mommy," Clint informed James, holding the phone for him to see. "She is the _prettiest_ Mommy."

James moved Clint's hand so he could see the phone's screen clearly. The photograph showed a young blonde woman with dark eyes holding a chubby infant, smiling at the camera. She was indeed very beautiful.

"Is that you?" James pointed to the baby.

"Uh huh." Clint pointed at Sharon. "That's Mommy and me."

Clint brought the phone back to his face again, looking intently at the photo until the doctor called for him. There were some final adjustments made to the prescription, then the doctor sat Clint down for a brief lecture on how to wear his glasses, and that he was to take them off when he was playing and looking at things farther away than the length of this room, and if he got a headache he was to take them off. Clint lost interest in the lecture mid-way through and wandered back over to the toys. Steve, who was busy taking notes, glanced at James, and James went after Clint. He handed the boy back his hearing aid and got Clint to tell him a story about the dinosaur toys while Steve was occupied.

Half an hour later, they were in an optical store, James preventing Clint from running off while Steve argued with the sales clerk about spectacle frames. Most of the frames Clint wanted had thick plastic arms that didn't fit over his hearing aid. As Steve grew more desperate, and Clint started to get frustrated, James hauled Clint over to the grown-up section and helped the boy try on aviator sunglasses. To Clint, this was the epitome of cool, and he was soon all smiles again as James snapped pictures on his phone for Steve to see later.

Finally, the sales clerk found a pair of wire-rimmed frames in the back that fit Clint's face without interfering with his hearing aid, and promised them that the glasses would be done in an hour. Thus disgorged onto the street, Steve let out a garbled sound of frustration.

"Daddy, that was stupid," Clint scowled. "James said I could have _purple_ glasses."

"They didn't have any purple wire frames," Steve said as he tossed Clint into the air, settling him on his hip. "Maybe next time."

Clint's scowl deepened.

"Or we can get some enamel paint and do it ourselves," James suggested. "I know a guy in the antiques business, he can get some quality stuff."

"Yeah!" Clint cheered, as Steve smiled at James. "Get purple. And black!"

"Your frames are already black," Steve reminded him. "Are you hungry? We have an hour, we can grab something to eat."

"I'm _starving!"_

"Figures." Steve turned to James. "What do you say? Can I buy you a sandwich?"

James looked at Steve, the afternoon sunshine gleaming down between the buildings and highlighting the blond and gold in his hair.

He should go, leave Steve to his lunch and his son and just _go_. Make a clean break of it, stop talking to Steve. Natasha would be upset but she'd get over it in time.

If James kept hanging around Steve, all he was going to do was fuck things up. Steve would figure it all out eventually, even if he didn't care about what James was, and that would be the end of that.

James should just end this now.

As James stood on the sidewalk, unable to answer, the smile slid off Steve's face. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Bucky?"

James swallowed hard, a lump of ice in his throat. He had to do this. "Steve, it's like this..."

Clint, who had been waiting through this exchange, kicked Steve's leg. "I'm hungry!" he said again. "Come on!"

"Come on, Bucky," Steve said, but quietly. "Let me buy you lunch. It's the least I can do."

Trying to breathe, James gave in. "Sure," he said. "Lunch is cool."

Mentally kicking himself, James walked at Steve's side down the crowded New York sidewalk. After lunch, he'd head back to Brooklyn and get Natasha from school and try to figure out some way to extricate Steve Rogers from his life before the inevitable came, and Steve pushed him away.

After lunch.

* * *

Steve took him to a little deli near Central Park, where they grabbed some sandwiches and took them into the park to eat. At Clint's insistence, they ended up walking as they ate, Steve talking about work while Clint ran back and forth on the path. They made it all the way to the carousel, where Clint pestered his father until Steve pulled some money from his pocket and let Clint go on the ride.

Steve hung out with James at the railing while Clint rode in circles on the near-empty carousel. At the end of the ride, Clint grumbled about having to leave until Steve suggested that they come back some week with Natasha, and Clint was so enamored with the suggestion that James didn't have the heart to turn the idea down.

Clint led the way back out of the park, running ahead of Steve and James as they talked. The walk back to the optical store didn't take too long, and soon Clint was being presented with his very own pair of spectacles.

Clint examined his reflection thoroughly while Steve made encouraging noises. After a while, Clint pronounced himself satisfied, and Steve handed over his credit card to pay. As soon as they were leaving, however, Clint took off his glasses and tried to hand them to his father. "I don't want to wear them now."

While Steve tried to reason with Clint, James went back to the counter. He was back in a minute. "Come here," he said, pulling Clint out of the doorway. "Give me your glasses." As Clint watched, James hooked a brightly colored cord around each earpiece, tightened the black plastic loops, then slung the cord around Clint's neck. "There you go. Now you can take them off without losing them."

Of course, Clint had to practice putting his glasses on and off without catching the cord on his hearing aid. James watched until he noticed that Steve was staring at him.

"Thanks," Steve said quietly when James raised an eyebrow. "You always know just what we need."

"It ain't hard," James said, uncomfortable by the intensity of Steve's gaze. "You're not that hard to figure out and neither is Clint."

Clint pulled off his glasses one last time. "Okay," he said, and reached for both Steve and James' hands. Together, they navigated their way out of the store.

Getting James' jeep out of the Stark Tower garage was possibly Clint's favorite part of the day; he watched the machinery shift and wheeze with rapturous joy. Then it was out and into traffic and Clint fell asleep in the backseat to the sounds of the _Wizard of Oz_ audio book.

"Did I say thanks yet?" Steve asked as James accelerated over the bridge back into Brooklyn.

"Yes."

"I should say it again. I couldn't have done this without you, today."

"Don't be an idiot, of course you could."

"No, I couldn't have."

James kept his eyes on the road, right hand firm on the steering wheel.

"You're so good with Clint, it's a miracle. He usually so easy going, but when he gets worked up about stuff even I can't get him to calm down."

"Redirect and re-engage," James said. "Worked in high school and in the Army, I figured it would work with Clint."

"Huh?"

"When someone's freaking out. Redirect and re-engage them, usually pulls them out of their heads."

"Does it work with Natasha?"

"No. Nat sticks to a grudge like gum on a subway seat."

Steve chuckled. "You know, I could probably deal better with that."

"Probably," James agreed. "You were just the same when we were kids. Always getting riled up about something, never letting anything go."

He made the mistake of glancing over at Steve, who was grinning now. "You always did know me too well," Steve said.

James jerked his attention back to the road. The middle of the Brooklyn Bridge was no place for him to lose his head over Steve Rogers. Especially not with a little boy in the backseat.

"You know, Clint's going to be okay."

"How do you know that?"

"He's got you, you ass," James said. "He's a good kid who can deal with all this shit. Hell, if I'd spent any time wondering if a doctor was going to come after my eyes with a knife I would have been freaking the fuck out all morning."

Steve let out a muffled curse. "I wish I knew where he got that from, he never said anything."

"He's smart, he probably made the connection on his own," James said. "That's what surgery is, knives into body parts. If he heard that quack you went to yesterday mention surgery, that's what he might have thought."

"Damn it." Steve tuned around to look in the backseat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, James could see that Clint was still passed out, cheek smushed against Natasha's booster seat, his glasses hanging by the cord around his neck. "At least we figured out how he can see. But now I have to send him back to that school tomorrow."

James pressed his lips together and concentrated on the road.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, and you were doing it very loudly." Steve slumped back in his seat. "I was thinking about what you said to Clint. About that school. I was thinking that maybe I should tell someone that they let a kid go missing and didn't even notice, you know?"

"That's a good place to start," James said as he merged towards the exit. "I could give you the name of Natasha's old social worker, if you want to talk to him. He knows everyone in the business, could push the right buttons."

"Yeah." Steve was quiet for a few minutes as James drove into Brooklyn. "Yeah, I may take you up on that."

James drove to Steve's apartment. He helped wake Clint up from his nap, but turned down Steve's offer of a cup of coffee. "I have to go pick up Nat," he said by way of explanation.

"Okay." Steve stood looking at James, holding Clint's hand while the boy yawned widely. "You still on for dinner after soccer on Thursday?"

And just like that, Steve had given James the perfect opening and it was like a punch to the gut. But still, James had spent years pretending that he was something he wasn't; wasn't gay, wasn't lonely, wasn't afraid. Straightening his shoulders, James made himself shrug nonchalantly. "We're getting near the end of the year, Natasha's dance class may go late."

"Oh." Steve drew Clint against his leg. "How about Sunday?"

"We'll see."

Steve's blue eyes narrowed. "Yeah," he said after a minute. "We'll see."

Yawning again, Clint wandered over to James and tugged on his jeans. "When are we going to paint my glasses?" he asked as James crouched down to his height.

"We'll see," James said again. He helped Clint put his glasses on, and straightened the frames on his face. "You look very dashing."

"What's dashing?" Clint asked, rubbing his nose.

"It means you look very smart and very grown up."

Clint beamed up at him, happy once again, and James heart broke just a little more. "Thanks!" Clint exclaimed, and flung himself at James for a hug.

James had to close his eyes against the stinging in his eyes. "You take care of your dad, okay?"

"Okay."

Standing on creaking knees, James shoved his hands in his pockets. "So I guess I'll see you around."

"I'll call you," Steve said, motioning for Clint to come back to him.

"Fine." And James turned on his heel and walked away from Steve and Clint, feeling like he was going to puke.

"I'm going to call you soon!" Steve yelled after him. "You owe me a phone number!"

James didn't turn around, couldn't turn around, because he knew if he did, he'd never be able to gather up the strength to walk away from Steve again, and that would make Steve's inevitable realization about what James was, even worse.

He got into the jeep and turned the key in the ignition without bothering to put on his seatbelt. He had to do this, he told himself. He had to walk away from Steve now, because when Steve realized that James was gay, if he ever figured out that James couldn't help thinking about him as more than just a friend, then things were going to get ugly and it would spill over onto the children and James could not have that.

Five years before, James had promised himself that he wasn't going to lie about who he was anymore. Up until he met Steve again, it hadn't been hard – he didn't have _friends_ , really, but he had Maria, and Nick, and Natasha was all that really mattered anyway.

James didn't need anyone else. When he was in high school, and later the Rangers, he'd had good practice in hiding his real feelings. He had grown up pretending to fit in, pretending he was something he was not, to prove he could get the job done.

But he wasn't going to pretend any more, he'd made himself that promise. And if the cost of keeping that promise to himself was losing Steve in the process…

Well. More than most people, James understood that sometimes life ripped parts of you away and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The trick was picking yourself up and waiting for the bleeding to stop.


	9. Paper Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [It's Only A Paper Moon by Ella Fitzgerald.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHCMWaiG-gI)

* * *

James dropped the jeep off before walking to Natasha's school. The long drive with Steve had jangled his nerves and he needed to walk it off before he could deal with his daughter.

He arrived at the school before the final bell, so he joined the queue of parents and nannies, letting himself be drawn into conversation with a woman he knew from Natasha's class. As it happened, she was the mother of the infamous Ricky, whose brother joining the army had sparked one of Natasha's bad days the previous month.

James was listening to the woman relate her son's experiences in boot camp, nodding in remembrance at his own time in training, when the doors burst open and St. Ursula's entire kindergarten class erupted onto the playground, ready to go home at the end of a long day. Ricky was in the lead, nearly crashing into his mother as he reached her. James bid them both farewell as he stood up to look for his child.

For some reason, Natasha had made a beeline for the school's jungle gym and was climbing up the monkey bars. "Hey," James said, walking over to join her. "How was school?"

"We got to play parachute in gym class!" Natasha said excitedly, reaching for the next bar up. Her little backpack wobbled as she climbed. "I sure am glad I came to school today."

"Me too." James stood nearby, where he could catch her if she fell, but knowing that she was too surefooted for that to be likely. "Why are you climbing?"

"I need to practice." Natasha stepped higher. "Clint can climb so high and I need to practice so I can keep up."

Her innocent words tightened the vise of guilt around his heart, but James couldn't back down now. He'd made the decision to distance himself from Steve, and he was just going to have to live with that. "Is that so?" he said vaguely.

"Uh huh." Natasha reached for the final bar and pulled herself up. "Look, Daddy, I'm so high!"

She was so happy, so pleased with herself, that James found himself smiling up at her. "You sure are. Hold on."

He pulled out his phone and took a quick picture of Natasha before helping her down. "Did you see me?" Natasha demanded excitedly as James set her on the ground.

"I did see you," James reassured her. "Come on, let's go home so you can get ready for dance class."

Natasha slipped her hand into James' and off they went, past the playground attendant and down the sidewalk.

"Daddy," Natasha said. "Is Clint okay?"

"Of course he is, sweet pea." James tugged on Natasha's hand to get her moving faster. "He went home with his dad."

Natasha stopped dead, holding James' hand so hard that he had to stop. "But what _happened_?"

James pried his hand out of Natasha's grip and picked the girl up, settling her on his right arm. "How about we talk over a coffee, okay?"

Natasha's eyes went wide in astonishment. They only ever had serious conversations 'over coffee' and Natasha considered this to be quite a treat. "Okay," Natasha said, then threw her arms around James' neck.

Luckily, there was a coffee shop on the way back to the house. James put Natasha down for her to peruse the pastry case as he ordered a large coffee for himself and Natasha's favourite 'fluffy pink milk' (steamed milk with raspberry syrup), then pulled Natasha over to a small table with their drinks.

Natasha took a sip from her cup, getting milk foam on her nose, and let out a satisfied sigh. "I like Tuesdays," she said. "Can I see Clint every Tuesday?"

James reached out with a napkin to wipe the foam off Natasha's face. "You have dance class on Tuesdays until the end of the month," he said to deflect her.

"Clint can come over before school and we can play." Natasha slurped at her milk. "Daddy, you're not drinking your coffee."

James made a show of picking up his cup and taking a sip of the scalding liquid.

Natasha sat back. "Tell me about Clint," she ordered, eyes bright as she stared at James.

So James dutifully told Natasha the details of the day, about how he drove Steve and Clint into the city and Clint had listened to Natasha's Wizard of Oz audio book ( _Good, now he and me can like that story together!_ ) and how he had met the Rogers at the doctor's office and Clint had been playing with toys ( _What kind of toys, Daddy?_ ) and how the doctor had made Clint try on the testing spectacles ( _Did Clint look funny?_ ) and then they went to have Clint fitted for a pair of glasses ( _I bet he looked funny_ ) then lunch and a walk in the park.

Natasha perked up at the mention of the park; James had taken her to Central Park the previous year to go to the zoo and Natasha had been clamouring at him to take her back ever since. "Daddy, I have to go to the park with Clint!" she exclaimed, tugging on his sleeve in excitement. "And we can climb high and jump off things and go swing and everything!"

James shushed her, helping her to sit back down in her seat and urging her to drink her milk, they had to go home so they could get to dance class on time. Momentarily distracted, Natasha polished off half her milk before turning back to James.

"Daddy, next time you go to the park with Clint you have to take me," she said. "It's only fair."

James looked at his daughter, her green eyes so solemn as she stared up at him, and the words he'd prepared about how she might not see Clint anymore shrivelled in his throat. "All right," he said instead, hoping Natasha couldn't see what a coward he was. "Can you drink your milk while we walk home?"

Natasha was thrilled with this grown-up responsibility; she let James put a lid on her cup and she carried it carefully in both hands as they navigates down the sidewalks on the way home, James' metal hand hovering over her shoulder in case she made a detour towards the road.

They made it home without incident. James sent Natasha up to change into her dance clothes. As Natasha disappeared up the stairs in a loud pounding of footsteps, James sat on the couch and wondered how on earth he could tell her that she wasn't going to be able to see her best friend again.

Things would have been far easier if Clint wasn't Natasha's only friend. But he was the only child with whom Natasha had ever formed a strong bond, and now James had to figure out a way to keep from breaking Natasha's heart as he tore her away from him.

"Daddy."

James nearly jumped out of his skin as Natasha materialized at his side, her eyes flashing ominously. "Geeze, Nat, what?"

"Did you move Dr. Snapples?"

Dr. Snapples was one of Natasha's stuffed toys. "Move her where?"

"Onto the chair."

James rubbed his hand over his eyes. "No, I didn't. But I did tell Clint he could go into your room this morning. I hope that was okay."

"Did Clint move Dr. Snapples?"

"Probably."

Natasha digested this. "I guess he didn't know," she said after a moment. "I'll tell him next time."

"Tell him what?"

"Dr. Snapples has to sleep until after school time, because she's a koala and she sleeps all day long." Natasha turned and went back upstairs.

Wondering where Natasha had picked up that little tidbit of information, James got up and went into the kitchen to fix her a snack.

The kitchen was still a mess from that morning; Steve might have been good at getting the children breakfast but he had been in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to clean up the dishes.

James picked up a tea towel, letting the wash-worn cotton slide through his fingers. It had been just over twelve hours since Steve sat at his kitchen table, spilling out all his fears and worries about Clint. Twelve hours since James had lain awake, listening to the soft sounds of Steve moving around in the guest bedroom.

James pushed himself away from the counter, feeling as if he might suffocate if he stayed still any longer. He had to make a break from Steve, he _had to_ , before everything came crashing down and the fallout hurt Natasha.

James didn't have any other choice. Everything he did, every choice he made, was to protect Natasha.

Turning on his heel, he walked out of the kitchen just as Natasha was descending the stairs, dressed in her black dance leotard and carrying her dance shoe bag in her hand. "Daddy, can I have a snack before homework?" she asked hopefully.

"Not right now." He knelt in front of Natasha and took the bag from her. "How about we walk over to the dance studio early?"

Natasha frowned at him. "But it's Tuesday," she said. "On Tuesday I have a snack and we do homework and then I go to dance."

"I know." James pushed a strand of hair out of Natasha's eyes. "How about we do something different today?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Good." He smiled at her. "Now, run upstairs and put a dress on over your dance clothes and we can head off."

Letting out her breath in a huff, Natasha climbed the stairs once again as James went to retrieve her backpack. Her homework sheets were in her red homework folder, and James glanced through them to make sure there was nothing too difficult. This close to the end of the year, the school was more intent on reinforcing existing lessons than introducing new concepts. Today was no different; some math questions, a writing exercise, and five new vocabulary words.

As James tried to return the folder to the backpack, a crumple of paper made him stop. Pulling out Natasha's gym clothes, he found a glossy folder shoved into the bottom of the bag. It took some pulling, but he managed to get the folder out of the bag without ripping any of the corners.

It was a St. Ursula's promotional brochure, identical to the one Maria Hill had pressed into James' hand when he'd told her he was looking for a school for Natasha. Poking out of the folder was a blue strip of paper. James pulled it out and read the copperplate handwriting.

_Mr. Barnes, if you could, please pass this information along to Mr. Rogers - our first grade intake has nearly been finalized for September but we always hold a few spots in reserve for exceptional students. If he is looking for a place for Clint next year, he should call our offices with any questions._

It was signed by Ms. Green, Natasha's principal.

James stared at the note for a long moment, then carried the folder into the kitchen and put it into the paper recycling bin. There was no point in holding on to it, James told himself over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He wasn't going to see Steve again, so there was no reason to keep it.

"Daddy, I'm ready!"

Taking a deep breath, James smoothed his shirt down over his stomach. "Coming, sweetie."

He didn't look at the mess Steve had left behind as he walked across the kitchen.

* * *

Natasha must have picked up on James' mood, for she was quiet on the walk to the dance studio. She held James' hand tight the whole way, looking up at him as she described her day at school.

Soon enough, they arrived at the dance studio. They still had an hour before Natasha's class began, so James sat Natasha down on an out-of-the-way sofa by the administrators' office and together they worked through Natasha's homework. The math questions were easy for the girl – Natasha liked the straight-forward nature of addition and subtraction, and satisfaction of getting the right answers. Similarly, handwriting was tolerated because there was a right and a wrong way to form the letters, and if Natasha still mixed up G and J that was all right, she was learning.

Vocabulary was a sore spot, however, as Natasha didn't like how sometimes a word could be said in different ways, or even mean different things. The word 'read' was on this week's vocab list, and having to explain to Natasha that the same word was pronounced in two different ways depending on tense and context left James with a headache as he packed her up and took her down the hall to her class.

Leaving her in Madame's hands, James left Natasha's backpack at the back of the room with her street shoes and change of clothes, and escaped into the sunny June afternoon. He supposed he could go for coffee at his usual spot, but it was such a clear afternoon and he was only five blocks from Prospect Park, so he kept walking.

Brooklynites were out in force, dog walkers and families and sidewalk commuters everywhere. James walked down the paths, trying to clear his head. He'd made up his mind that he needed to cut ties with Steve, all he had to do now was actually do it.

It would be hard on Natasha, but it was for the best for both of them, James told himself as he stopped to pet a curious Labrador retriever and to exchange a few words with the dog's owner. Natasha would make other friends. And Clint would be okay; he had his glasses and his father would make sure that the school didn't push him to the back of the room where he couldn't hear, not after that Monday's fiasco.

Had it only been the previous day that Clint ran away from school? It seemed to James like a month had passed.

But it had been a long day indeed. It wasn't every day that James realized he was in love with his best friend.

It didn't matter, James thought, clenching his hand into a fist in his jacket pocket. It didn't matter what James thought or felt or _wanted_ in life. Steve was straight and once he realized that James was gay, the odds were that he'd freak out on James and push him away. James just didn't want any of that to spill over onto Natasha.

Speaking of Natasha, he should head back to the dance studio. Quickly, James pulled out his phone to check the time, and was pulled up short by what was on the screen.

He had one text from Steve.

_Hey you said you could give me the phone number of Natasha's social worker. Can u send it?_

James shoved the phone back into his pocket, his chest feeling tight. He didn't want to think about Steve, not his face or his voice or the way he'd looked at James in the jeep on the way home, with the sunlight playing off the golden highlights in his hair, just so damned grateful.

James put his head down and started walking. He had to be back at the dance studio to pick up his little girl on time. Natasha was all that mattered. Nothing else.

* * *

In spite of the distance he'd covered, James arrived back at the studio a few minutes before class ended. He took a spot near the door to wait, pulling out his phone as a cover to avoid being pulled into a conversation with the dance moms.

This, of course, left him staring at Steve's message.

The easiest thing to do would be to delete the message, remove Steve's number from his contacts and ignore all future messages. But James had said he would pass along the phone number.

A ruckus in the studio warned James that class was close to letting out. Quickly, he typed out Nick Fury's phone number, then added _say I told u to call hes busy man._

Before he could think better of it, James hit send and pocketed his phone as Natasha ricocheted out of the studio, waving a piece of paper as she ran to him. "Daddy!" Natasha squealed. "We are having a recite!"

"A what?" James asked, crouching down so Natasha could wrap her arms around his neck. With his metal hand, he took the paper from her. "Oh, a recital."

"Yeah, that." Natasha's sharp fingernails dug into James' collarbone. "I get to wear a _costume_ and dance in front of all the people!"

James read from the paper. The dance company's younger classes were having an evening recital at the end of the month, with a special performance by a pair of dancers from the New York City Ballet.

Then James saw the ticket prices.

"Twenty bucks?" he exclaimed. "With what I pay for your lessons?"

"It's a fundraiser," Natasha said, enunciating the word carefully. "We are raising money."

"What for?" James reached around Natasha with his right hand to flatten the edge of the paper.

"The scholarship fund." Natasha pointed at the paper. "See?"

James' irritation bled away as he read the fine print. "Why the hell not," he muttered, folding the paper away. "I guess it's a good cause. Hey, where's your stuff?"

They had to go back into the studio to retrieve Natasha's backpack and shoes, then hurry out as the next class was getting underway. Natasha chattered the entire way home about how excited she was to dance in front of a real audience and how she had to practice every day so she would know her moves and dance the best of all the other dancers.

"You already dance well, Madame says so," James reminded her as they paused at a stoplight.

"I have to dance the _best_ ," Natasha said gravely. She looked up at James. "Can Clint come see me?"

"I don't know," James hedged. "He might be busy."

"Please?" Natasha begged. "Can you ask him? Please? Pretty please?"

"The light's changed, come on, we need to cross the street," James said, hustling Natasha into the crosswalk. On the other side of the street, James distracted Natasha from the subject of Clint by asking her about her costume, and that conversation carried them all the way home.

* * *

Somehow, James survived the evening. He got them through dinner by listening to Natasha talk about how much she was going to enjoy her dance recital, then broke one of his own weeknight rules by putting Natasha in front of a movie while he cleaned up the dishes from dinner as well as that morning's mess. He had to remove his prosthesis before washing the pots; the straps were chafing across his chest and he didn't trust that the metal was waterproof enough to withstand a sink full of soapy water. The work and sheer frustration it took to wash the pots one-handed kept him out of his head as Natasha sang along with Judy Garland in the living room.

Luckily, James finished up before the Wizard sent Dorothy and her friends on their assassination mission to the east, and stopped the video and hurried Natasha upstairs with a warning that she was going to turn into a pumpkin if she didn't get to bed soon.

Natasha protested as she brushed her teeth and changed into her blue and green pyjamas. She was still arguing with James as she climbed into bed. "But I'm not sleepy!" Natasha said as James tucked her teddy bear in beside her.

"It's bed time whether you're tired or not." James pulled the covers over Natasha. "You were up super-early this morning and now you need to sleep so you can go to school tomorrow."

"But I don't want to go to sleep!" Natasha snuggled up to her bear. "I want a story."

James sat on the floor beside Natasha's bed. He was exhausted, his body aching from the long day and the lack of sleep from the night before. He just wanted to pass out, and hope that his long, horrible, very bad day didn't follow him into his dreams to taunt him with all the things he could not have. "What story do you want?"

Natasha wanted _Madeline_. Then she wanted a re-read of her favourite chapter of _Pippi Longstocking_ , then a fairy tale. James put his foot down after that, kissing Natasha on the cheek and turning off the light on her protests.

"But how can I sleep?" Natasha demanded.

"Hug your bear," James said. "Think of nice things. Close your eyes."

Disgruntled, Natasha pursed her lips but closed her eyes. "I'm going to stay awake all night!" she told him, eyes still closed.

He made sure the blankets were tucked around her, then kissed her hair and tiptoed quietly out of the room. Closing her door, he went to clean up the mess in the guest bedroom.

Steve had folded the blankets neatly at the end of the bed. James stood for a long time in the doorway, looking at the neatly made bed, at the folded blankets. For one night, for a few wonderful hours, James had actually thought he would be able to make this friendship with Steve work. Then he'd gone and ruined that.

James thought back to all the superficial friendships he'd had over the years, in high school and later in the Army. It was easy to be friendly without actually revealing anything of himself, James had found in senior high. Just pretend to be interested in what the other guy was saying, steer the conversation towards schoolwork and music, and eventually they'd wander off to find someone who wanted to talk about girls. Same thing in the Army, only swap out _schoolwork_ with _weaponry_ and you had the makings for a beautiful wartime friendship.

James rubbed at his right temple, wishing the dull ache in his head would go away. The room was fuzzy around the edges, a warning sign for a Bad Night that James didn't know if he could handle. He was just so fucking tired, but he couldn't sleep, not yet. He had to get the place clean, had to check the windows and doors and try to erase any sign of Steve Rogers, of the stupid _couldhavebeen_ that dogged James' every thought since that morning's realization in the physiotherapy session.

He had to stop. He had responsibilities, a good life, a solid job, a wonderful kid, a nice house. In some ways, he'd had more than his share of good luck. He just had to suck it up and remember that things like love weren't in the cards for him.

He'd fallen in love, once. All it had gotten him was used, betrayed, and eventually kicked out of his house to fend for himself.

For guys like him, love was just a fairy tale.

Rubbing the aching scars on his left arm stump, James moved forward to strip the sheets off the bed. He'd do the laundry before he went to sleep.

It took him close to two hours to finish cleaning up. After putting the sheets in the wash, James walked around the living room, cleaning up Natasha's toys and crayons, then knelt down to reorganize the DVDs. The only saving grace in James' many trips up and down the stairs was that Natasha was fast asleep when he checked in on her, half an hour after he turned out her light.

Finally, when he was so tired he could barely see straight, James forced himself to check every door, every window, then triple-tested the house alarm before he would allow himself to go up to bed. He didn't bother with a shower, just stripped out of his clothes and pulled on clean sweatpants and a t-shirt before collapsing into bed.

After a minute, he got up again and padded downstairs in the dark to retrieve his phone from his jacket pocket. James checked the screen. Three missed calls and one voicemail, all from Steve.

He turned the screen off. There was no point in listening to Steve's message, especially not at this hour.

James went back upstairs. He closed and locked his bedroom door, then, dropping his phone on the bedside table, he crawled under the sheets. He was so cold he was shaking, just like when he'd been on night patrol in Afghanistan. But he'd kept it together then, and now he was safe in his own house, with the security system armed and the doors and windows locked up. He was safe. Natasha was safe.

Grey spots swam in front of his eyes, like faces watching him out of the dark. He pressed his hand over his face, telling himself that it wasn't real, there wasn't anyone else in the room, that it was just his imagination. There were no faces, no voices, no one else there, _no one else there._

Curling up into a ball, James held a pillow over his head as he told himself, over and over, that he was alone.

* * *

The nightmare, when it came, ripped James apart.

It was night, and he was out on rain-slicked streets in bare feet. He had nowhere to go and he was cold _so cold_ and he couldn't turn around, not even to look at the _thing_ breathing down his neck, had to keep walking, couldn't turn around, _couldn't turn around_ not even as fingers sharper than claws clamped down on his left arm and bit down to bone, hot blood everywhere and his arm was being pulled from his body and James felt it all, every muscle snapping, every inch of bone shattering and it was dark and there was screaming and it was dark and he was screaming and somewhere something was hammering and Natasha was screaming and crying and that was enough to pull James awake.

James opened his eyes to darkness, a voice yelling out of his own throat as he clawed his way to consciousness. Someone was hammering on the locked bedroom door and Natasha was crying, calling out for him.

James tried to stand but his legs were tangled in the sheet and he slid off the bed, banging his head on the floor. Out in the hall, Natasha kept calling for him. Fighting with sudden adrenaline, James kicked free of the sheets and crawled to the door, unlocked it with a quick twist of the hand and pulled it open.

Natasha stood in the doorway, tears shining on her frightened face in the faint light from the hall nightlight. "I heard a monster come to eat you!" she exclaimed, and burst into tears.

James wrapped his arm around Natasha and rocked her as she sobbed in his ear. His nightmare receded as the waking world pressed in around him; Natasha's crying loud enough to drown out the pounding of his heartbeat, her arms nearly choking him as she held on tight. The shirt clung to his body, wet with cooling sweat, and he was shaking by the time he found his voice. "Shh, Natasha, it's all right. There's no monster here."

"I heard you yelling," Natasha sobbed. "Like a monster come to eat you up!"

He shushed her, rocking back and forth as her sobs tapered off. "I had a bad dream, that's all," he told her when she quieted down. "A bad dream about a bad thing that happened a long time ago. It can't hurt us anymore."

Natasha hiccupped as she finally let go of James' neck and moved back to look at him. "If it can't hurt us, why'd you yell so much?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sorry," James said, and pulled Natasha close for another hug. "I'm so sorry, baby."

It took a few minutes for Natasha to let James go. Clinging tight to his hand, she led him to her bedroom and let him tuck her into bed. James left the light on as he went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. His reflection in the mirror was ghastly – red-rimmed eyes, milk-pale skin under his scruffy beard. If he'd seen himself in a dark alley somewhere, he'd have called the police.

Pushing the wet hair out of his eyes, James made himself go back to Natasha's bedroom. She was clutching her teddy bear, eyes wide as she waited for him.

"Hey there," James said. He smoothed the hair back from her face. "I'm very sorry I woke you up."

"I thought a monster comed to eat you," Natasha said again, her tiny fingers digging into the fur of the stuffed bear. "And I heard you yell and I was gonna come make it go away!"

"Were you scared?" James asked, putting his hand over hers.

Natasha nodded. "But you said scared doesn't matter, you gotta do it!"

James frowned down at her. "When did I say that?"

"You said it to Maria, a long time ago." Natasha wiggled closer to James, clutching at his fingertips. "I gonna stop the monster from come eat you."

Her words were slurring now, her eyes closing in spite of herself. James ran his thumb over her knuckles, gently so as not to rouse her. "I'm such a lucky dad," he said quietly. "To have such a brave little girl."

Natasha's breathing evened out, her grip on his hand growing slack as she fell back to sleep. James sat on the side of the bed watching her, hating himself for being so out of control, for still having these stupid nightmares about things in his past he couldn't change. He couldn't even have shell-shock like a normal man; couldn't be properly sucked back into what he'd gone through in Afghanistan and Iraq. Lots of guys like him got kicked out of the house when they were kids; you didn't see them waking screaming about it.

 _Fucking useless,_ James thought, hating the ache in his throat, the cold sweat chilling him through to the bone. Everything he did was for Natasha, but what good was that if he woke her up with his nightmares, terrifying her to the point where she thought a monster was going to eat her?

Carefully, James bent over to kiss Natasha's cheek, then attempted to extricate his fingers from her grasp. He nearly made his escape, but the movement as he stood off the bed jarred Natasha awake, eyes flying open and already reaching for him as she started to sob about the monsters again.

It took him nearly half an hour to quiet her, talking her down and then singing her favourite songs when she refused to close her eyes. When the girl finally passed out, James was so tired that he couldn't stand up straight. Moving as quietly as he could, James turned off Natasha's overhead light and left the room by the illumination of the tiny nightlight on the desk.

The hallway was cold. James shivered as he walked back to his room, unable to shake the lingering nightmare-memories of that rain-drenched September night, reaching up to choke him seventeen years later.

That's why he never understood the nightmare _thing_ chasing him down that street; when he had been on that street at fifteen years old, he had been utterly, achingly alone.

His father hadn't even had the decency to let James put on some shoes before he threw him out of the house.

Bile burned in James' throat as he turned in at his door. The sheets lay on the ground in a tangle. When James reached out to pull them back on the bed, he realized that the sheets were still damp with cold sweat. Moving slow, more like an old man than anyone of thirty-two ought, James stripped the sheets off the bed and tossed them in the corner. Going to the closet, James pulled out the winter quilt he'd put away in March, and dragged that to the bed with some vague idea of going back to sleep.

He glanced at his phone as he heaved the quilt onto the bed. It was all that damned phone's fault, he thought numbly as he sat on the edge of the mattress. If he hadn't texted Steve back after meeting him at the grocery store, none of this would have happened. James wouldn't have deluded himself into thinking that he could have a friend, wouldn't have fallen in love with a man he'd never be able to touch, wouldn't have had to rip Natasha away from her best friend.

James reached for the phone. The voicemail from Steve was still there, and he was going to have to listen to it sometime.

Unless he deleted it.

Somehow, James couldn't bring himself to do that. This might be the last time he ever heard Steve's voice. Maybe he could listen to it, just once, and then be done with it.

"Hey, it's Steve. Thanks for the number, I gave the guy a call and he sent me in the right direction to talk to someone over at the school board about what happened with Clint's school. The more I think about things… well, you're right. Suspending a five-year-old because he ran away seems off so I'm going to follow up on this. It helps knowing what's been up with Clint was his eyes and not behavioural."

There was a moment of silence, then Steve's message went on.

"You helped with that, Bucky, and I don't know if I can ever thank you enough for what you did to help Clint." Steve took a deep breath. "Clint was talking about today, and you're pretty much one of his favourite people in the world at this point. That makes two of us, I guess. It's good we ran into each other again, Buck, and well," and at this point Steve's voice began to sound embarrassed. "I got the idea today that I said something that you took bad. I wanted to make sure you weren't pissed off at me. Call me, okay? Tell me I'm an idiot or something. Anyway, yeah, call me, just to talk or anything you need. And soon."

That was it.

James lowered his phone. He could just leave it there, delete the message, pretend Steve Rogers didn't exist in his world. But that was the coward's way out, and if his nightmare had served to remind James Buchanan Barnes of one thing, was that he'd never backed down from standing his ground, even when it might have been the smart idea.

Taking a deep breath, James opened up a text message to Steve. _hey i need to talk to u abt smthng. Maybe we cn talk wo the kids one day_

He hit send, then added, _its importnt_

There. He'd done it. He'd talk to Steve without the children around, tell the man that he was gay, and then if Steve freaked out at least Natasha and Clint wouldn't be there to witness any of it.

James doubted that Steve would take a swing at him, but even down an arm, James had years of combat training under his belt. He could handle a punch by some fine arts major.

James put the phone back on the bedside table and started to unfold the quilt, hazily thinking he might be able to get at least a few hours of sleep before Natasha woke again, when his phone rang.

It was Steve.

James dove for the phone before the ringing could wake Natasha. "What the fuck?" he demanded as he answered the call. "What the fuck time is it?"

"You were awake!" Steve objected, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Were you?"

"Sort of, yeah. I had a business call to Chennai, it was just easier to stay up to make it. Are you okay?"

James didn't mean to say anything, but the lateness of the hour and the aching in his bones pushed the words out. "It's a bad night, Steve."

"What happened?" Steve asked, his voice quiet and close, across the physical distance of the city.

"Sometimes, there's nights when it's hard to sleep." James sat on the bed, trying to slip under the quilt without letting go of the phone. "It's like, I sleep, but then I wake up, you know?"

"Nightmares?"

James used his left arm to move the pillow under his head. "Yeah," he said eventually, the word feeling like dust in his mouth. "Most times, I just wake up and it's okay, but tonight…"

"Yeah?" Steve prompted when James didn't go on.

"I was yelling so loud I woke up Natasha. I scared my own kid half to death, Steve."

"Is she okay?"

"She's sleeping now. Took forever to convince her that I wasn't being eaten by monsters."

"Things will be better in the morning, she'll be fine."

"And how do you know that?" James demanded, a sudden fury flaring at Steve. What did he know about any of it? He had no idea what James had been through, he'd moved away and didn't know _anything_.

"She's got you, Bucky, and that's worth everything."

"You don't know anything about what I been through—"

"But I know what it's like to be adopted," Steve interrupted. "And I know what it's like to wake up every day as a foster kid knowing the adults in the house only keep you around because they're being paid. When Natasha wakes up tomorrow she's going to know that you're there, and you're her father, and you're always going to be there." Steve's voice was thick around the edges and James didn't think it was from exhaustion alone. "You don't ever know what that means until you lose it."

James shifted onto his side, curling down into the quilt. "I didn't know you were going through that when we were kids."

"Yeah, well, there was a lot of stuff I didn't tell you. Back then, it was like you had everything I didn't, your parents and your sister and a nice house."

James couldn't stop the painful laugh that forced its way out of his throat. "Wasn't all it was cracked up to be, Steve."

"It never is."

Of all the things James didn't want to talk about with Steve, his family was at the top of the list. He cast around for something to say. "How's Clint doing?"

"Okay," Steve said. "He tried to hide his glasses at the back of his sock drawer when we got home. He said they were giving him a headache."

"The doctor warned about that, didn't he?"

"Yeah, and that it might take some time for Clint to warm up to the idea. We ended up looking at pictures of Sharon, and I tried to get him to look at one of the notebooks the school sends home, but he didn't want to pay attention to that."

"What about comic books?" James asked. "That was how I got into reading, comics in the dentist's office."

"Are there comics he could read?"

"Sure, why not? If he can't read the words yet, so just show him the pictures. He'll get into the words eventually."

Steve let out his breath in a huff. "How the hell do you know so much about kids?" he asked, but it wasn't in anger; more like admiration. "You're so good with Clint."

"Kids aren't that mysterious," James said, the sick ball of dread creeping back into his stomach. "It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal," Steve said. "And thank you."

James pressed his forehead against his left arm, feeling the lump of the prosthesis's implant pressing against the bone. "Damn it, Steve, why are you making this so hard?" he whispered.

Steve went on as if he hadn't heard. "How about me and Clint come over tomorrow after school?" he suggested. "Clint's been dying to show Natasha his practice bow, and I can bring dinner."

"Steve—"

"I'm taking tomorrow off work to go talk to Clint's principal," Steve barrelled on. "I can make my world-famous mac and cheese. I know Natasha likes cheese."

"She does," James said, resolve weakening.

"And we can talk, like you wanted to. About whatever you want."

James closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"We don't have to talk," Steve said immediately. "We can just eat."

"Steve."

"Bucky, it's just dinner. And it'll be a chance for the kids to play together."

"You're an asshole," James said, a weight lifting from his chest as he gave in. "A pushy asshole."

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day," Steve said. "Now get some sleep, it's fucking late."

"Bossy, too."

"I'll see you tomorrow at five."

"Bye Steve."

"Bye."

James let the phone slip out of his hand. That had gone the exact opposite of what he'd wanted; but when things came to a head, he just couldn't push Steve away. Even though Steve had only come back into his life a month before, he was still the closest thing James had to a real friend.

The heaviness of sleep was interrupted by a cry down the hall and James was on his feet in an instant, dragging the quilt along with him as he hurried back to Natasha's room, where his daughter was sitting up in bed, calling for him in a panic.

The night wasn't over yet.

* * *

When the sunlight woke James the next morning, he felt even worse than he'd anticipated. He lay on the floor next to Natasha's bed, half his body freezing while the half covered by the quilt was melting-hot. Every part of him ached.

With a groan, James sat up. Natasha was still asleep, somehow. It had taken James every trick in the book to help her get back to sleep after she woke the second time, and he'd eventually had to lie down on her floor to _keep the monsters away_.

Parenting was not for the faint of heart, James mused as he stood. Yawning, he meandered out of the room and to the bathroom. He'd intended to just take care of business and go back to wake Natasha for school, but he felt so gross that he closed the door and stepped into the shower to let the hot water wash away the worst of the night.

He was in the middle of washing his hair when a rush of cold air pushed against the shower curtain. "Daddy, are you in the shower?" Natasha asked.

"Who else would it be?" James asked, ducking his head under the spray.

"A monster."

"Why would a monster be taking a shower?" James asked. He wiped his eyes before poking his head around the shower curtain.

Natasha frowned up at him. "Because he likes bubble bath?"

"Out," James ordered. "I'll be done in a minute."

"Okay." Natasha walked out of the bathroom, leaving the door wide open in her wake.

James finished quickly, dried off in a hurry, then dashed back to his bedroom to find a pair of clean pants and a shirt before heading in search of Natasha. He found the little girl sitting by the bay window in the living room, staring out at the street. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, easing his creaking bones down beside her.

Natasha let out a sigh. "Daddy, is this real life?"

James raised his eyebrows. "As opposed to what?"

"A dream. Are we in a dream?"

"Nope." He held out his arm to her, and she pounced onto his lap, curling up against his chest. "Most times, when you're in a dream, you don't wonder if you're in a dream. And things are weird, but you don't think they're weird."

"If this is real life, are there still monsters?" Natasha asked, looking up at him. "Or do monsters only come out when you sleep?"

James hesitated. One of the hard things about growing up was the realization that the real monsters weren't hiding in closets and under beds. "Sometimes in real life, there are bad people," he said cautiously. "And they're usually out there in the day time."

Unsurprisingly, this did not reassure Natasha. "Are they going to come get me?" she demanded, grabbing a fistful of James' shirt.

"No, sweet pea, they're not going to get anywhere near you," he said, pulling her into a hug. "You've got me to protect you."

"What about when you're not around?" Natasha pressed.

"There are other grownups who can keep you safe," James said. Damn it, he should have kept his mouth shut. "Like Maria, and Mrs. Singh, and Skye."

"And Steve?"

"Yes, and Steve. And you and Clint can keep each other safe."

"How?"

Now James was wishing he had Maria around for this conversation; with her background in the FBI she might have known the right thing to say. "You gotta trust your instincts, Nat," he finally said, falling back on his own hard-learned lessons. "If there's a grown-up or a big kid who makes you feel uncomfortable, you tell me right away, okay?"

Natasha nodded, eyes wide. "But how will I _know_?"

James looked out the window at the street. This early in the morning, the only passers-by were dog walkers and joggers. "You know how you know stuff without really thinking about it? Like when you were learning to catch a ball last year in preschool?"

"Yes," Natasha said immediately. "I just knowed how to do it."

"Some people call that instinct, but what's really going on is that your brain is thinking super hard and doing all sorts of work, to figure things out. And that happens so fast that you don't even know it's going on."

Natasha frowned. "How will that help me fight monsters?"

"When you have a bad feeling about someone, sometimes it comes from instinct. You trust those instincts and they'll keep you safe."

"But _how_?"

James put his hand around her ribs and moved her around so she was standing facing him. "If you have a bad feeling about someone, you get away from that person and you come find me. Okay?"

Natasha nodded firmly.

"Now, how about you run upstairs and get dressed, and we'll have some breakfast?"

"Okay, Daddy," she said, and leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek before running upstairs.

James slumped against the window. Natasha's school started in two hours, all he had to do was to keep it together until then.

* * *

While Natasha got ready for school, James strapped on his arm and set about making breakfast. Natasha wasn't in the mood for porridge, so he reheated the previous evening's dinner of chicken curry and added a scrambled egg before putting the plate in front of Natasha.

"Hey, so Steve and Clint are coming over today after school," James said as he reached for his coffee. "Steve promised to make mac and cheese for dinner."

"Okay." Natasha ate a bite of egg.

James frowned at his daughter. Normally, when anyone mentioned either Clint or macaroni and cheese, she would have been through the roof. He set his cup down and reached over to feel her forehead. At least she didn't have a fever. "Are you okay with that?"

"Uh huh." Natasha drove her fork into a piece of chicken. "I can see Clint's glasses."

James filled the quiet with talk on Natasha's schedule for the rest of the month, mostly around her dance class and her school end-of-year parties. Natasha responded to the conversation, but she didn't seem as excited about her recital as she had the previous day.

Finally, James pushed his coffee away. "Nat, you feeling okay?"

Natasha moved a flattened pea around the plate. "I guess."

"Are you tired?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Then what's up?"

Natasha shrugged. "I feel sad," she confessed. "In here." She pointed to her belly.

"That's not good." James reached for a clean napkin. "Why do you feel sad?"

" 'Cause I got scared of the monster." Natasha let James wipe her mouth with the napkin. "I thought I was dreaming that I was scared but I'm awake now."

James felt the knife of guilt dig that much deeper into his heart. "No monsters are going to come get you in the day," he said firmly. "And no monster will ever come after you when you're at home, never."

Natasha just looked at him.

"Are you done? Go brush your teeth and we'll walk to school."

Natasha slid off her chair and slowly trudged out of the kitchen. James was torn; he wasn't sure she should go to school like this, but he knew himself and he knew that if he didn't have some time alone, to work or sleep or something, he wasn't going to be in any fit shape to take care of a child or to deal with Steve that afternoon.

And Natasha _seemed_ okay with things. James said a small prayer before knocking back the last of his coffee and going to find his daughter.

Natasha's spirits revived a bit on the walk to school. She stopped James twice to point out the pretty flowers in their neighbours' flower boxes, and once to say hello to an alley cat. James kept her from getting too close to the creature, and they continued on their way.

James left Natasha in the before-school care room, barely able to get a kiss in before Natasha tore off to play with the computer. He set Natasha's backpack near the door so she could pick it up on the way to class, then left the building.

On the way back home, he caught sight of his reflection as he waited for the light to change, and he did not like what he saw. Looking like the walking dead in the privacy of his own home was one thing, but when his reflection in a bus window looked disreputable enough to give him pause, that was another.

So when he walked past the barber's on the corner, a few blocks from his house, he didn't keep on going like he usually did.

The barber, an older man with thick glasses, was talking with a customer when James entered. The man must have thought James was an easy mark, for he was in the chair in a few minutes.

"What can I do for you today?" the barber asked, reaching for his instruments.

James looked at his reflection, suddenly sick of himself. "My little girl thinks it's time I had a haircut," he lied, curling his metal hand into a ball on his lap. "Got any ideas?"

The barber beamed at him. "I do indeed."

* * *

After his stint in the barber's chair, James continued home. His head felt weirdly cold with most of his hair hacked off, and he kept waiting for the wind to push his bangs into his eyes. It had been a few years since he'd last done this and right now he was just too fucking tired to analyze his motives.

Finally, James made it home. He locked the doors, armed the security system, and on his way upstairs he texted Maria to let her know he was going to have to reschedule their planned two o'clock coffee meeting.

 _What's wrong with you_? She sent back a minute later.

_i got ptsd up the ass and need to fuckng sleep._

_Is N ok_

_of course shes at scool see u tmrw_

_You text like a barbarian._

_U try typing w one hand and c how u care abt spelling_

James set the alarm on his phone to one o'clock, striped out of his clothes and prosthetic, then flopped into bed. At least if he had a nightmare now, he wouldn't disturb Natasha.

He was asleep before he even had time to worry about what he was going to do with Steve that afternoon.

* * *

When his alarm woke him, James was feeling somewhat human again. He rose, put on his arm, dressed in decent clothes, then went downstairs to make himself some coffee.

While the coffee dripped into the pot, he went back upstairs to shave. The barber had offered, but James had been skittish enough about letting someone near his head with scissors. He hadn't really felt up to a straight-razor shave by a stranger.

Now, as he shaved, he couldn't help staring at his new haircut. Short on the sides but long enough on the top to keep it away from Army regulation, he looked younger than he'd felt in years. Weird.

After a bit of work, he washed his face. With his haircut and close shave, he looked somewhat respectable, almost like someone he'd want to talk to on the street.

A random thought passed through his mind, wondering what Steve would make of him now, but James pushed that away. Even if Steve didn't walk out after their conversation that afternoon, the man was never going to look at James in that way.

With a shake of the head, James dried his face and went downstairs to fortify himself with coffee before heading over to pick up Natasha.

The June afternoon was bright and sunny as James walked the sidewalks, hands in his pockets. He didn't understand why he felt so much better than he had that morning; sure, he'd gotten an uninterrupted six hours of sleep, and the shave had helped brace him, but he still had to deal with Steve.

James made it to the school just as the kindergarten class was streaming out onto the playground. He didn't see Natasha anywhere in the frothing mass of children and was starting to worry when Mrs. Singh appeared, leading little Natasha out of the school by the hand. Natasha had her head down and was dragging her feet, pulling her backpack along by one strap.

"Mr. Barnes," said Mrs. Singh with a small smile. "Hello."

"Hey there," James said, hurrying over. "What's up?"

At the sound of her father's voice, Natasha lifted her head. Her eyes went round, her mouth opening in surprise. Then, as if in slow motion, Natasha's lower lip began to tremble, tears filled her eyes, and she literally collapsed to the pavement in tears.

"What's wrong?" James asked in astonishment, reaching for Natasha. She let go of her backpack and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder as she let out a muffled wail.

"Natasha has had a very emotional day," Mrs. Singh told James, crouching down to put her hand on Natasha's back as the girl let out another wail. "She had a time-out after lunch because she was pushing one of the boys around."

"Bossing?"

"Shoving."

"Nat, you know you're not supposed to shove other children," James said, trying to get Natasha's attention.

The girl pulled back from his shoulder and looked at him with devastation in her eyes. "You cut your hair!" she told him.

"Is that what you're upset about?" he asked, getting a nod out of Natasha. "Why?"

"Now you're too pretty to be my daddy!" she burst out, then collapsed back on his shoulder.

James sighed as he patted Natasha's back. "Thanks for letting me know about what happened today," he told Mrs. Singh. "I'll talk with her when she's calmed down a bit. Did she apologize to the kid?"

"She did." Mrs. Singh held Natasha's backpack as James scooped Natasha up. "She's been doing very well in the last few months. I see this every year with the children who are on the younger end of the age spectrum; some of them have a harder time with their social skills. Natasha has learned a lot in the last few months about controlling her feelings and playing well with others."

"I'm very glad to hear that," James said, rocking back and forth gently as Natasha snuffled against his neck. "I'll make sure she gets a good night sleep tonight so she's ready for class tomorrow."

"Good." Mrs. Singh handed James the backpack. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, Natasha."

"Bye!" Natasha wailed without looking up.

James carried Natasha over to the playground and sat in one of the empty swings. "It's been a long day," he observed, tossing the backpack onto the gravel. "For both of us. What we need tonight is a long sleep."

Natasha sniffled as she wiggled around so she could hold the swing's chains. "I don't want to sleep," she said crossly. "Ever."

"Okay." James set the swing in motion, moving them gently through the air. "You can stay awake forever, but I can't. I need to get my beauty sleep. Of course, I don't want to be too pretty to be your father, so I need to be careful."

"You're being mean," Natasha said, twisting around to glare darkly at him.

"I'm not being mean. Why did you say that about me?"

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed, glaring out at the playground as James swung them back and forth. After a minute, she said, "You look like that picture you have when you were in the Army. When you weren't a dad."

"Ah, I see," James said. "That was a long time ago, before I ever met you. That was three years before you were born."

"I don't like it."

"You don't like my haircut?"

"No!"

"Oh, okay." James pushed them faster, and Natasha was soon holding the chains and urging to him to go higher. He went as high as he dared on the swing set built for schoolchildren. After a few minutes, Natasha was laughing again.

James slowed them down, and gradually came to a stop. Natasha slipped off his lap and turned around to regard him solemnly. "Maybe it's not so bad," she admitted. "I'll get used to it."

"I'm glad to hear that," James said just as seriously, although he was dying from his efforts to keep a straight face. "Can we go home now? Steve and Clint are coming over at five."

"When's that?" Natasha asked, picking up her backpack and holding out her hand for James.

They talked about the nature of linear time on the way home. Natasha then asked how long it would be before James' hair grew out again, and that diverged into a discussion into the concept of personal choice over one's hairstyle.

By the time they walked up the steps at home, James had managed to convince Natasha that haircuts were a thing to be done in the salon by a professional, _not_ at home with the scissors. With the feeling of having dodged a bullet, James suggested a snack. After a perusal of the fridge, Natasha demanded hummus and carrot sticks, and they sat on the back steps and ate before tackling Natasha's homework.

Ten minutes after five, James' phone pinged with a _we're out front_ text from Steve. Upon hearing the news, Natasha ran screeching for the door, James on her heels.

Out on the street, Clint stood on the sidewalk holding a long black case while Steve was paying the taxi driver. Two shopping bags were perched beside Clint on the sidewalk.

"Hi!" Natasha exclaimed, running down to meet her friend. Clint, wearing his glasses, was grinning when Natasha barrelled into him.

"You have a nice face," Clint said, moving close to Natasha. Natasha giggled and stood on her tip-toes to rub her nose against Clint's, making the boy giggle as well.

James smiled fondly at the scene, walking slowly down the steps. Steve straightened up and stepped onto the sidewalk as he looked up at James, and very nearly tripped over his own feet in astonishment.

"Not you too?" James said, raising his eyebrows. "It's just a haircut."

"No!" Steve said quickly. "It's nice, it's just…. Yeah, it's nice." His cheeks were red, probably with embarrassment of tripping, James told himself.

"Really? Because I made Natasha cry with this haircut, I think that's a high bar to beat." James reached for one of the bags. "Come on inside."

Once in the house, Steve made a beeline for the kitchen, while Clint trailed along behind him, still carrying his black case. "Daddy, can we shoot arrows now?" he asked.

"In a few minutes, I need to get the casserole into the oven." As he spoke, Steve moved around James' kitchen with ease. "Why don't you and Natasha go outside and find a good place to set up the target?"

"Okay!" Clint dropped his case and pulled his glasses from his face, letting them dangle from the cord. "Come on!"

The children ran out into the backyard, leaving the adults in the kitchen. The silence that settled set James' nerves on edge. "So," he said, to delay the inevitable. "Need anything?"

"I'm good." Steve removed a covered casserole dish from one of the bags. "It has to bake for about an hour before I can add the topping."

"I thought you said you were making mac and cheese."

"I did." Steve removed the dish's cover, revealing a panful of glistening macaroni in a pale sauce. "It's twice-baked mac and cheese. Try it."

Dubious, James grabbed a fork out of the drawer and speared a morsel of pasta. "World famous, huh?"

"World famous," Steve confirmed, smiling at James.

"Fine." James lifted the fork to his mouth. When he tasted the sauce, he wasn't able to hold back a groan of appreciation at the sheer deliciousness of the sauce. "How much butter is in there?" he demanded, going back for a second forkful.

Steve blocked him with a hip-check. "Not much. That's the two cups of heavy cream you're tasting." He reached for the aluminium foil. "If you want to help, you can put that bag of cheese into the fridge."

James did as requested. "You know, you serve my kid that for dinner, and she may decide she's going to go live with you."

"This is only for special occasions," Steve pointed out. "Plus, it's hard to make for just two. It's better for four."

"Natasha will eat enough for four, trust me."

A loud hullabaloo preceded Natasha and Clint's entry into the kitchen. "Dad, I found it!" Clint yelled, running over to Steve. "Can we shoot arrows now, _please_?"

"In a minute."

Meanwhile, Natasha had wandered over to James and was tugging on his shirt hem. "Daddy, Clint has glasses now," she informed him. "I told him he looks pretty."

"Clint looks very grown up with his glasses," James said, trying to herd the children out the back door. "What do you think, Clint?"

"I like not wearing glasses," Clint said as he lugged his bow case over the deck. "I wore them today in school and they made my head hurt."

"How was school?" James asked.

"Okay. Miss Spitz was there and she didn't make me go to the back."

"That's good." James reached the spot where the children had dragged a roll of paper. "How does this work?"

Steve arrived in time to help set up the target on the back fence, first unrolling a cloth pad to stop any arrows from going into the fence itself. "Is this going to work?" James asked, slightly askance at the idea of a five-year-old shooting arrows with any degree of accuracy.

"All the time." Steve slapped James on the back in passing. "Come on, let's show Natasha how to use the bow."

"Wait, _what?_ "

But Steve was already instructing the children on weapons safety, and the importance of taking turns, and never stepping in front of an arrow and Natasha was taking it all in with rapt attention. "Now, let's have Clint go first to show you how to do it," Steve said, unlatching the black case.

As soon as James was at her side, Natasha grabbed his hand and held it tight as Clint took the small bow from his father. Steve set a quiver on the ground to let Clint select an arrow. "Are you seeing?" Clint asked, turning to look at Natasha.

"I'm seeing," Natasha said breathlessly. She watched as Clint set the arrow to the bow, pulled the string back, and let the arrow fly across the yard into the target. "Wow."

"I like bows and arrows," Clint said in satisfaction.

"Okay, Natasha's turn."

James caught his daughter before she ran across the yard to pick up her first weapon. "Hold on," he said. "Clint, come here." When he had the children's attention, he held out his hands to them. "There are two rules when it comes to this, okay? A bow is not a toy, it's a weapon. What do we do when there is a weapon around?"

"Tell a grown-up," Natasha said immediately. "And don't touch unless a grown-up says you can."

"Thank you, sweet pea," James said. "And since both Steve and I are here, and we said it's okay, there are two more very important rules. The first one is that when you're not the one shooting, you have to stand behind the shooter. Can we practice that?"

Natasha took off, hauling Clint along and shoving him to stand in a space where he had a clear shot of the target. Then Natasha ran back a few feet. "Like this?" she asked.

"Perfect. Swap spaces and try again." The children exchanged places, then James called them back over. "Do you know why we do that?"

Clint put his hand in the air. "So no one walks in front of the arrow and gets hurt."

"Exactly."

Natasha rubbed her nose. "What's the second rule?"

"The second rule is very important," James said gravely. "When there's a weapon around, sometimes things can happen. If either me or Steve yell 'stop' you both need to stop what you're doing right away."

"How come?" Clint asked.

"Because sometimes we can see things you can't. When I was in the Army, we had the same rule," James said, stretching the truth only a little. "Are we good?"

The children nodded, and Clint handed Natasha the bow and showed her how to nock her arrow and pull the string. Then everyone stepped back as Natasha let the arrow go.

It flopped to the ground two feet from the bow.

"What happened?" Natasha demanded.

"You gotta practice." Clint waited until Natasha put the bow down to go retrieve the arrows. "Then you can be like me and be excellent."

They went through a few more rounds, with Steve supervising and James hovering nervously, before Natasha turned on them and shooed them away. James and Steve sat on the steps, close enough for James to be able to make a panicked dive in case of disaster, and let Clint and Natasha take turns shooting arrows at the target.

They were quiet for a few minutes, James so busy watching the children that he didn't even try to think about making small talk.

"You're mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?" James snapped, hardly blinking as Natasha put an arrow to the bow. "You walk in here and hand my child a weapon without asking me first, why would that upset me?"

"I thought we talked about it last night." Steve put his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry, Bucky."

As Natasha lowered the bow to hand to Clint, James risked a glance at Steve. "It's fine," he admitted. "It might not seem like it, but I am perfectly capable of saying _no_ to my kid if I need to. Nat's been getting weapons safety lessons since before she could talk."

"You said you had guns in the house?"

"And I also said they're locked up tight." James turned back to the children as Clint nocked an arrow and sighted down the shaft. "Clint's safe when he's here."

"Good." Steve subsided. Natasha wasn't having an easy time of things, not being able to draw the string back as far as Clint was. After failing to make much distance with her last arrow, she handed the bow back to Clint in frustration before running over to James.

"I can't do it!" she exclaimed, falling dramatically onto James' shoulder.

"It takes practice, like everything. You just gotta keep trying."

"No."

Clint had wandered up to them, holding the bow at his side. He looked between his father and James uncertainly. "Do we have to stop?" he asked in a small voice.

"No, we don't," James said before Steve could speak. "Natasha can play other things for now, if you want to keep on practicing. Right, Nat?"

"I guess," the girl said, standing up. "I'm gonna play garden."

"And I'm gonna shoot arrows," Clint said, happy once again.

"And us old guys are going to sit here and watch," James said. "Right, Steve?"

"Sure thing, Bucky."

Natasha harrumphed, but she went over to fetch her watering can without additional comment, which, after the day she'd had, was as close to acceptance as James could expect. Clint went back to his target practice and soon the arrows were flying fast and furious.

"He's good," James said after a while. "Like, really good."

"I know," Steve agreed. "The instructors at his range don't normally take kids until they're six, but Clint was so insistent that they let him try, and he's been going since last October."

"What made him want to try in the first place?"

"I think we were watching Robin Hood, and that hooked him."

"Which one? Russell Crowe? Kevin Costner?"

Steve took his eyes off Clint to stare at James. "The one with the talking animals. You like those kinds of movies?"

James shrugged. "I'm a single dad, Steve. The only adult fun I have in my life is late-night Netflix after Nat goes to bed."

Across the lawn, Clint yelled "Clear the deck!" as he set down the bow to run out and pick up his arrows.

"Kid's got good range discipline," James observed. "Better than some punks I knew back in basic."

"He knows that arrows can be dangerous," Steve said. "Which is why I lock up the arrows and the bow when he's not at practice."

"Separately?"

"What?"

"Do you lock up the arrows separate from the bow?"

Steve looked out at Clint, who was carefully arranging the arrows back in the quiver. "I will now," he said, putting his hand over his mouth.

"It's a good habit to get into," James said, and without thinking he leaned over to bump his shoulder against Steve's. He pulled back the next moment, but it was too late. He'd already done it, and now Steve was smiling at James and that was wrong, this whole thing was wrong. He was supposed to be telling Steve he was gay, not engaging in some mild roughhousing while their children were less than five feet away.

Trying to make it look casual, James slid away from Steve, putting some distance between them. Steve's eyes followed James, but he only said, "I called that guy you told me about, Nick Fury?"

"Yeah?" James replied, focusing on Clint.

"You said he's Natasha's social worker?"

"He was, sort of," James said. Talking about Fury was easy, far easier than thinking about his feelings. "Back after she was born."

"He's the head of child services," Steve said, as if James was unaware of this. "That's a big deal."

"He helped you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but I'm trying to figure out why."

"You have a kid, don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

"Look, Fury knows how the world works. The school tries to pull this shit with a little white boy with a stable home life? How long before they start in on the kids in more precarious situations?"

Steve rubbed his eyes. "That's fucked up."

"Which is why Fury took your call," James finished. "What happened?"

"I spent most of this morning at the school, trying to figure out how they lost my kid," Steve said, leaning back on the steps. "I'm trying to figure out if I want to make this a big deal."

"There are other schools you can send him to," James pointed out.

"Yeah, I know." There was a minute's quiet as Clint called for the all clear to gather his arrows. "So how about now?"

"Now what?"

"How about you tell me what you texted me about last night?"

James ran his hand through his hair, still faintly surprised at the short length. "Maybe I changed my mind."

"You always were a bad liar."

"Now that's just not true," James said. "I'm a great liar."

"Bucky, please."

This was it, what James had been readying himself for, and still it took him a minute to breathe himself calm enough to speak. "So, um. There's some stuff about me you don't know."

"Okay."

"And, well." James closed his eyes, then, butterflies in his stomach and his heart in his throat, he opened them again. "I'm gay."

For a moment, a heartbreaking moment, Steve didn't say anything. Then, in a voice too much like his normal voice, he said, "Yeah?"

James turned to look at Steve. The man wasn't shying away from him in disgust, wasn't jumping to his feet and grabbing Clint while calling James _pervert_ or _faggot_ or anything. He was just looking at James.

Only when James was staring at Steve did Steve's expression change. "Oh, is that what you wanted to tell me?"

He was so normal about it that James had to turn away, ball his hand up and press it against his stomach to keep from falling apart on the steps. "Yeah," James said, his voice catching. "That was it."

"Oh." Steve shifted around, but James kept his eyes on Clint, he had to. "I mean, I guessed."

A chill ran down James' spine. "You what?"

"It's no big deal," Steve said. "Just, there I was going on about Sharon and Peggy and everything and you never said anything about dating anyone." He coughed. "Not to stereotype, but most straight guys tend to take any opportunity to mention if they're dating someone."

"Maybe I've been busy," James said stiffly, turning to Steve. The man was looking at him with such openness and caring that a lump rose in James' throat.

"It's also less likely for single straight men to adopt unrelated little girls," Steve said. "Least it was when I was in the system."

"Not sure it's changed much," James muttered. "I don't know. I just did whatever Fury said to adopt Nat."

"Good," Steve said. "Maybe I'm biased, but anytime a kid gets adopted, I'm happy."

" _Maybe_ you're biased?" James echoed. "Dude, you spent every weekend for _five years_ prepping your home visit bag, just in case someone came to adopt you while you weren't there."

"And it worked," Steve said. "Abraham came, and off I went."

It hadn't been quite like that, of course; there were home visits and weekend trips while the social workers had focused on suitability and fit and all that, but James remembered acutely how much he missed Steve, just as much as he remembered how desperately Steve wanted a family of his own, something twelve-year-old James couldn't give him.

"I'm glad for you," James said, making his answer come from his grown-up self, not the sad child who'd lost his best friend. "I really am."

Steve's smile was like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "So, now that we got that out of the way…. Seeing anyone?"

"Nope, and not looking to," James said immediately. The last thing in the world he needed was Steve trying to set him up with someone. What a disaster that would be; even more so that the futility of falling in love with his straight best friend. "I don't have time to date."

"Oh," Steve said, sounding disappointed. "Ever?"

"I'm a busy man, Steve. I ain't got time for that stuff."

He was about to add something about being too old for the dating scene, when Natasha materialized at his side, watering can dripping on his jeans. "Daddy," she said, lips pursed in thought. "What's gay?"

For a moment, all James could do was look at his daughter. "What?"

"What's gay?" Natasha set the watering can down. "You told Steve, you are gay. What's that?"

For all that he had been preparing to have this conversation with Natasha for several years, her simple question caught him completely off-guard. "Uh."

Natasha waited.

"It's, well, you know how a lot of the stories have a boy and a girl and they fall in love?"

"Yes."

"Gay is when you're a boy and you fall in love with another boy. Or a girl falling in love with another girl." There, he thought. That didn't sound too bad.

"Oh." Natasha digested this. "How come?"

"I was born like that," James said. He held out his hand to Natasha, and she took it, letting herself be drawn into a one-armed hug. "When I was growing up, I realized that I was gay, and that I wanted to fall in love with a boy."

"Did you?"

James kept the smile on his face, even as the push of memory dragged painful rivets through his mind. "Nope," he lied. "But that's okay, because I know if I ever do, it'll be with a man."

"Sandra has two mommies," Natasha informed him. "She's in the third grade."

"Sandra is a lucky girl," James said.

"Will I have two daddies?"

James opened his mouth to answer, then let out his breath. "I don't know," he said honestly. "What I do know is that I will always be your daddy, forever and ever. And if I do find someone to love, you'll meet them long before anything else changes."

Natasha rubbed her ear. "Am _I_ gay?"

James hadn't prepared for this. He foundered for a moment, before Steve rescued him. "Only you can answer that," Steve said. "You'll know when you know. You may like boys, you may like girls, or maybe even both."

"When will I know?" Natasha pressed.

"When you know, like Steve said," James said, rebounding. Natasha stood up again, going back for her watering can. "Hey, Nat." He caught her hand, making her look at him. "I want you to know something very important, okay?"

"What?"

"Whatever happens, whoever you love and whatever you do in your life, you will always be my little girl, and I will always love you."

Natasha's expression cleared as she beamed at him. "Oh Daddy," she said, "Of course you will."

She stepped back into his personal space and laid a big wet kiss on his cheek, before going over to pick up her watering can and heading back to her garden.

 _Of course you will_ , Natasha's words echoed in James' head. For a moment, all James could remember was the sting of his father's hand against his jaw after he told the man he was gay, that he needed help about some guy he'd been secretly dating _please dad please I need your help_ , the twist of fabric of his shirt pulled tight as his father dragged him across the floor to the door, his little sister screaming as their father pushed James out of the house and into the night.

His hand was shaking. Very deliberately, James put his hand under his left arm, pressing the prosthesis against his body until the metal bit against his skin.

Five years of trying to raise Natasha right, and all she'd said when he told her he'd always love her, was _of course you will_.

Because of _course_ he would.

"You okay?" Steve asked quietly, as Natasha played in the garden and Clint shot arrow after arrow at the makeshift target.

"No."

Steve shifted closer to James, and a moment later he laid his hand against James' back, out of sight from the children. James leaned into the contact, needing something to keep him grounded in this place, to keep from falling back into memories and anger.

"I take it things weren't so easy when you were a kid?" Steve asked, keeping his hand firm against James' back.

James thought back to his nightmare from the previous night, to the reality he'd lived through, all alone on that cold rainy street with absolutely nowhere safe to go. "It really wasn't," was all he said, focusing on Steve's hand, on the children, on _now_.

They sat like that for a long time, as James breathed his way out of the past, until it was time to go inside and have dinner, to listen to the children chatter happily about their days, just to live in the moment with the family and friends James had built for himself.

It wasn't everything, but it was enough for James on that warm June evening.


	10. Take Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack: [Take Five by Dave Brubeck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmDDOFXSgAs)

* * *

Saturday morning found James in a small Brooklyn cafe, waiting for Steve to show up. Skye was already there when James arrived, and after the usual _hellos_ and _how's Nat?_ James ordered a latte and asked Skye how things were going.

Ten minutes later, James' latte sat untouched as he listened, aghast, as Skye continued her story. "So just as I think things are going good with this guy, I find out that he's been spying on me just to get insider information on my Aunt May's company," Skye said, her eyes fixed on James as she leaned on the table. "And he's been playing us _both_."

James shook his head and picked up his cup. "This douchebag was sleeping with you _and_ your aunt?" he said, rather less tactfully than he might have with someone else. But this was Skye, and while she was a bit younger than he was, they got along well enough.

Luckily, Skye wasn't offended. "I know, right?" She sighed. "And if it had just been because of hormones, I might have been okay with it because May is, like, Gen X perfection. But no, it was all some fucked-up undercover industrial espionage disaster. And do you know what the worst part is?"

"It gets worse?"

"Yeah." Skye leaned in close. "He was running what's called a hydra scheme for his backers."

"What the hell is that?"

"Play the sides against each other so no one knows what's going on. And if someone finds out?" Skye snapped her fingers. "Cut that head off."

James set his cup down with a clatter. "Is your aunt okay?" he demanded.

"She's fine." Skye's look of grim determination told James that it was not a certain bet. "When May found out what he was doing, she confronted him in one of the new warehouses that Shield Imports is building in Jersey. He tried to shove her into a spinning table saw, so she nail-gunned his foot to the concrete before knocking him out with a two-by-four."

James stared at Skye, mouth agape. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"Nope." Skye crossed her arms over her chest. "But no one messes with Melinda May and gets away with it."

There was a fierce anger and pride in her voice. James reached for his cup again, saying, "If some punk tricked me into bed and then tried to push me into a table saw, I wouldn't have stuck that nail gun into his foot."

Skye snorted. "I know, right?"

"Where is he now?"

"Jail, where he belongs. Coulson knows a guy in the DA's office, made sure of that."

James raised his eyebrows. "Who's Coulson?"

"Aunt May's head of security."

"Wait, you call your aunt by her last name?" James asked, but Skye was looking over his shoulder at the window.

"She's not technically my aunt, it's a thing." Skye put her hand up in a wave. "Your buddy's here."

James turned around just in time to see Steve Rogers enter the coffee shop. The sun was shining behind the man, sending the motes of dust into a halo around him. For a moment, Steve was looking around, perfect in his profile.

Then he spotted James and he smiled, and James' heart skipped a beat.

"And I thought he photographed well." Skye's musing pulled James back to himself with a bump.

James didn't even have time to glare at Skye, because Steve was there at their table. "You must be Skye," Steve said.

Skye bounced to her feet and shook Steve's hand. He towered over her, inches taller than she was, but knowing Skye, she wasn't in the least intimidated. "How's Clint?"

"He's fine," Steve said, and somehow got himself seated at the tiny table without knocking over any of the coffee cups. "Bucky said you helped out when he left school."

"Just doing what I could," Skye said. When Steve turned to look for the waiter, she mouthed _Bucky?_ at James.

"It was much appreciated," Steve said. The waiter appeared, Steve ordered, and then they were back to the matter at hand. "So, let's talk."

"All right." Skye pulled a sheaf of papers out of her huge purse. "I was talking to James here about taking care of Natasha this summer, like I did last summer, and he suggested that maybe you might be looking for someone to look after your little guy." She smiled, showing her teeth. "So I put together a proposal." She shoved the papers at Steve.

"What are the highlights?" Steve asked, taking the papers and putting them on the table.

"Well." Skye folded her hands together. "I have all my various certifications and certificates, and three years of experience. I get along with Nat, and my rates for two children would be almost the same as for one."

"Almost?" James asked.

"Just… slightly higher," Skye admitted.

"What did you do with Natasha last summer?" Steve asked, curious.

Skye went into detail about what she and James' daughter had done; activities and outings and crafts. "But, it's still summer, so we had a lot of fun," she finished.

"And this was at Bucky's house?"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool, with the back yard and all that space."

"Didn't bother me too much," James said. "When I had to work I'd just shut the door. Nat knew that she wasn't to bother me with the door closed."

"And she kept to that?" Steve asked, sounding dubious.

"About a quarter of the time," James admitted with a smile. "But nah, Skye kept her pretty busy. Natasha was having too much fun to want to hang out with her old man."

Steve leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. "Clint's been having some… challenges, in school this year," he said after a minute. "We recently figured out that he was having some vision problems, and he wasn't able to pick up much reading this year."

"We could work on that," Skye said, beaming. "Part of what I do at college is in the area of early learning, so I'd be perfect. I mean," she amended hastily at the sight of James' raised eyebrow, "I'm sure I could help."

"No, anything would be great," Steve said. "I would just need a few days to think things over. Can I get back to you next week?"

"Take your time," Skye said, rising with alacrity, purse in hand. "Read my resume, call my references, and if you have any questions, ever, I'm always around."

"Thanks for meeting us on your Saturday," Steve said, rising as well to shake Skye's hand again. "I'll be in touch."

Skye smiled brightly at him, gave James a triumphant wink, and then sped out the door.

Steve sank back into his chair, pushing Skye's papers around the table. "No Nat today?" he asked.

"She's off with Maria shopping for bathing suits," James said. "She's so excited about her swimming lesson on Monday that she didn't fall asleep last night until midnight."

"Ouch," Steve said, but he was starting to smile again.

"No Clint?"

"Birthday party," Steve said. He sat back as the waiter brought over the man's latte and brioche. "One of the kids on his soccer team is having a thing at the park."

James thought back. "On Thursday you said you didn't have any plans this weekend."

"We didn't." Steve sipped at his cup. "It was last minute – the boy's dad was supposed to have him this weekend for a birthday thing but he backed out last minute. I got a call at ten last night from his mother, trying to organize something for today. Luckily Clint likes parties."

"Poor kid," James said. "That would really suck."

"Yeah." Steve stirred his drink. "You know, sometimes me and Sharon have our problems, but never anything like this. If she says she's going to be somewhere for Clint, she's there, end of story."

"Good," James said quietly. "I know how much Clint loves her."

Steve tapped his spoon against the rim of the cup. "Ever since he got his glasses, Clint wakes up every morning asking to see a picture of his mom," he said, voice nearly inaudible in the din of the crowded café. "All this time, he couldn't see and I missed it."

There they were again, back on Clint's vision problem. James was torn between wanting to pat Steve on the back in reassurance, or to kick him under the table. "Do you have pictures of Sharon?" he asked.

"No print-outs, just on my phone."

"So get Sharon to send you one," James said, wondering if Steve was being this dense on purpose. "Give Clint a picture of his mother that he can carry around, he'll be over the moon, and it'll give him a chance to practice focusing those little eyes."

Steve let his spoon slide into the cup as he stared at James. "That's a good idea," he said.

This time, James really did kick Steve. "Stop making it sound like that's some kind of miracle," he said. "With Natasha, the best way to make her happy is to let her do the little things she wants to do. We had one week last fall where she had to carry an empty glass jar with her around the neighborhood, in case she found treasures she wanted to keep."

Steve's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, I know, but I gave her the jar and she carried it around for a few days then forgot about it, and I didn't have her pestering me. Made her happy and kept me sane."

"That's a good general approach to it." Steve was looking at James now, and the scrutiny was making him nervous. "So, Skye."

"She knows what she's doing," James said, relieved to have the topic going back to the children. "She worked at Nat's preschool for a few years. She's been going to night school for a few years and transferred to NYU last year."

"Doing what?"

"Developmental psychology. She's interested in how kids learn with computers and stuff. She's great with the internet."

"The internet," Steve repeated.

"Hey, leave me alone," James protested. "We didn't even have email until my last year of high school. Most of what I was doing in the army wasn't exactly high-tech."

"And she's going to watch Natasha all summer?"

"Monday to Friday," James agreed. "She has to leave early on Wednesdays for a summer class she's taking, but I moved my meetings to Thursdays so I can be around for Natasha. And Clint, if you want to do this."

Steve opened the folder of papers. "It feels like I'd be taking advantage," he said after a minute, flipping through the pages. "At your house and all."

"Don't be stupid," James said. "You'd be chipping in for half, same as me. And keeping an eye on Clint on Wednesdays after Skye leaves would be easier than Natasha alone; they can keep each other occupied."

Steve was frowning at the papers, and James was struck with a sudden thought as cold as ice down his spine. He and Steve had spoken only a few days previous about… about what James was, and Steve had seemed okay with it at the time, but what if the reason Steve was hesitating was that he didn't want James around his son?

The world narrowed in an icy, adrenaline rush, and James braced himself for whatever Steve might say next.

"It's just…" Steve said slowly. "With Clint's problems at school, and not being able to read… I don't want someone who's going to make him feel like he's being punished all summer."

It took James a moment to wrap his head around this, to pull himself down from his imagined disaster. "Skye's really chill with kids," he said when he was able to form the words again. "You know how intense Natasha gets; Skye was the only one in her preschool who could cool Natasha down. Nat spent last summer having a lot of fun and doing a bit of learning, yeah, but it's summer and they're five."

Steve rubbed his hand through his hair, obviously unconvinced.

"And I'll be there, just a few feet away," James went on, cautiously prodding at Steve. "If they need a break or something, I can help Skye out."

Finally, Steve looked up, and there was something in his eyes that James didn't quite understand. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "Clint, your house, all summer?"

"It's two months," James said, relief blossoming in his stomach. "I know Skye, I trust her with Natasha, and I'll be there."

Steve let out a big breath. "Then I'm in. We're in."

James smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Great! That's great. Natasha's going to be over the moon."

"Yeah, well, we'll see if that's still the case after spending two weeks with Clint," Steve said, but he was smiling. "Do you think Skye would be up for starting the Monday after school ends? I have a hell of a month in July."

They talked about logistics for a while. James could tell that something was still bothering Steve, but figured he'd let Steve get to it on his own time. After ten minutes, however, James stopped mid-sentence and said, "What's bugging you?"

The glare Steve shot at him was not entirely happy. "Stop reading my mind," he muttered.

"Then what's chewing your ass?"

"It's Clint. I know Skye said she could help with his reading, but…"

"If you make a big deal out of it, he's going to pick up on it," James cautioned. "He's five. Give him a few months to get used to seeing things close up, and once he starts first grade, he'll start flying."

"I know, it's just… I want to give him the best chance in life."

"And if he was ten and couldn't read, then there might be a problem." James reached across the table to punch Steve in the shoulder. "He's five."

Steve batted James' hand away. "I wish the teachers at his school would think the same way. We only have a couple weeks left, and they're starting to shove all this stuff on Clint for the summer. One of them even told me he should go into remedial tutoring."

"That's stupid." James drained the last of his now-cold coffee and reached for his wallet. "How much time do you have before you gotta go pick up Clint?"

Steve checked his phone. "An hour."

"I need to get some stuff for dinner tonight. Want to come with me?"

"Yeah."

It was a busy few minutes, paying for the coffees and gathering up papers. Steve tucked Skye's resume under his arm as they headed down the street. "So are you going to send Clint back to that school next year?" James asked.

"It's close to home," Steve said.

"Yeah, so's the railyard. Clint might have more fun learning the rails than sitting through another year in that school."

"Bucky," Steve said disapprovingly. "There are laws."

"Man, you are a drag today." James turned the corner, heading toward the deli that carried Natasha's favourite 'squishy cheese'. "If you want to spend some of that Stark Industries money, you could always send Clint to school with Natasha."

"Missed that window years ago," Steve said, and that made James turn to look at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Steve stepped out of the flow of pedestrians, stopping against a wall. "All the people at work who send their kids to private school, they had to submit their applications when the kid was two or something," he told James. "Before SI stock crashed, I barely had enough money to keep me and Clint going. Private school wasn't on the radar. Now, it's too late to get in."

James stared at Steve. "What if it wasn't?"

Steve threw an annoyed glance at James. "What reputable private school just lets some kid in midway through the summer?"

"St. Ursula's. Look," James said, deciding to bend the truth a little. "I was talking to Ms. Green, and she said they always keep a handful of spots open for first grade, for exceptional kids. She asked if you might think about sending Clint there but I told her I wasn't sure. You should maybe call her on Monday."

Steve was now staring at James, his blue eyes wide and (it may have been James' fancy) hopeful. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," James said. "Look, call her. Maybe it'll be something."

"And she called Clint exceptional?"

"He is," James said, starting to walk again.

"I know that," Steve protested, slapping James on the right shoulder as he kept pace. "Just not all Clint's teachers see it that way."

"Dude, Clint navigated his way cold across Brooklyn, then snuck into her highly secure school building," James reminded Steve. "Most ten year olds would have problems with that, and they can read."

"And that's why she's offering Clint a spot in her school?"

"I don't know, call her and ask."

By that point, they were at the deli. James took a number from the ticket wheel and went over to look at the salami selection. He could feel Steve's gaze on the back of his neck, and wasn't surprised when the man stepped in close enough for their shoulders to touch.

"Do you think it'd be a good place for Clint?" Steve asked, his voice quiet and for James' ears only.

"Yeah," James replied, just as quietly. "This school, they focus a lot on social development and community and physical activity. With Nat, I was never worried that she'd learn to read and all that stuff, but she was so weird with other kids in preschool, I wanted her to go someplace where she could work on that."

"What do you mean?"

James was saved from having to answer by having his number called. As he asked the man behind the counter for various types of cheese and meats, Steve wandered over to look at the bread. In a few minutes, James was paying for his goods and heading out the door, Steve wandering along in his wake.

"How was Natasha weird?" Steve pressed.

James transferred the handles of the plastic bag to his left hand, willing the metal fingers to close into a fist around the plastic strips. "Just, you know, she was one of the youngest and she was so small, and she ordered the other kids around instead of asking them."

"Little kids are like that."

"Maybe. Maybe Nat was too young for school, I don't know. I just needed her out of the house for a little bit." As soon as the words left James' mouth, he wanted to take them back. He had always been so careful to keep anything like that to himself, to hide any hint that he was having trouble with his daughter. A gay single father with such a visible disability was on the edge of a lot of society's boundaries, and James had made a promise to himself very long ago that he would never let anyone see him struggling with raising Natasha.

But now, he'd just blown past all that with Steve.

But Steve didn't seem shocked or levy any judgment on James for his admission. "Natasha gets along really great with Clint now," he said.

"They're growing up, I guess." James slowed as they reached the corner. "So yeah. Call the school and see if they have any spots left."

Steve looked up at the sky. "How much does it cost?"

James hesitated. "You should call the school," he said instead.

"That bad, huh?"

"Hey, I can afford it, can't I?"

Steve shook his head. "We still on for lunch tomorrow?" he asked as he started to make his way down the sidewalk in the direction of the subway.

"See you at noon!" James shouted after him. Steve grinned before turning and heading down the street.

James was human enough to take a few moments to watch Steve walk away.

* * *

He returned to an empty house. His steps echoed on the floors as he stashed the food in the fridge. Checking his phone, James sent Maria a text message asking for an update, then while he waited he headed into his office to check his email.

Skye had sent him a message, time-stamped three minutes after she left the café that morning. James wrote her back to tell her that Steve was almost certainly on-board for the summer, and added a few words of his own about Clint's personality and interests before hitting send.

His phone beeped. Maria had texted, letting him know that she and Natasha would be at the house in about half an hour.

Glancing at the time, James made himself stand. Thirty minutes would give him enough time to put in a load of laundry. _What a glamorous life_ , James thought to himself as he headed downstairs.

Forty minutes later, James was transferring wet clothes to the dryer when the doorbell rang. James slammed the dryer door, pressed the buttons to start the machine, then headed up the stairs at a trot. Maria was on the threshold, looking about as frazzled as James had ever seen her. Natasha was jumping up and down at her side, and when James opened the door the little girl dashed into the house and halfway up the stairs before James could even react.

"Daddy, we went shopping!" Natasha squealed, then jumped down three stairs to the floor.

"Good." James closed the door behind Maria. "Long day?" he said to her.

Maria shoved a handful of shopping bags at James. "I need tea," was all she said as she walked to the kitchen.

Natasha ran after Maria and James trailed along, bringing the shopping bags with him. Natasha hopped around at Maria's feet, giggling while the woman turned on the kettle. Taking in the expression on Maria's face, James dumped the shopping bags on the table and called Natasha to him.

"Did you have a fun time?" he asked, kneeling down.

"Uh huh!" Natasha exclaimed as she jumped at James for a hug. "Maria is my favourite person in the _whole world!_ "

"Mine too," James said. Maria raised her eyebrows at him, but he just smiled. "But you gotta give Maria a few minutes to breathe, Nat. She's not used to all the excitement of shopping with you. Why don't you tell me about what you did today?"

Natasha launched into a long story about her day. As she chattered, James got her seated at the table and brought her a small carton of milk to drink. Maria joined them in a few minutes, carrying two mugs with teabags floating in the hot water.

"…and I tried on every bathing suit ever!" Natasha was saying, barely pausing in her tale to gulp back her milk. "Red ones and blue ones and ones with butterflies! But I didn't get any of those ones, I got the _best_ ones!"

Maria blew across her tea. "Why don't you go try on the suits we got so you can show your dad?" she suggested.

Natasha beamed at Maria. "Good idea!" she exclaimed as she slid off her chair. The little girl bounded over to the bags and selected one to drag along after her as she ran out of the room.

In the resulting quiet, James leaned back in his chair to look at Maria. "Thanks for doing this," he said. "Taking Nat shopping and all."

Maria sipped at her tea. "It was fun," she said cautiously. "Terrifying and somewhat loud, but fun."

"Was it weird?"

"It was less traumatizing than I remember my first bathing suit shopping experience being," Maria said. "But that wouldn't be hard."

From the hallway, a warning yell was heard. "Daddy, I'm coming!"

"We're still in the kitchen," James yelled back.

In stormed Natasha, wearing a lilac bathing suit. "Daddy, this is my purple party bathing suit," Natasha informed him, putting her hands on her hips. "Look, it has ruffles!"

James made the appropriate _oohs_ and _aahs_ for his daughter. Indeed, the suit had tiny purple ruffles sewn into the fabric, which would probably do nothing for speed under the water, but James supposed that for a five-year-old girl, fashion was a consideration in swimwear.

"Go try on the black one next," Maria suggested, and Natasha ran out of the kitchen. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a bathing suit?" James said tentatively, not really sure what Maria was driving at.

"Natasha was adamant that she had to get a suit for formal occasions," Maria said, deadpan. "After all, you have several."

James turned and stared at Maria, not sure if she was making a joke at his expense. She stared right back at him until Natasha ran back into the room. "Daddy, look at me!" the girl shouted. She did a few pirouettes, her little belly sticking out as she spun. "This is a _black_ bathing suit with _red_ triangles!"

"Come over here," James called to her. She ran to his side and let him straighten out the twisted strap on her shoulder. "Is it comfortable?"

"Daddy, it has _red triangles_ ," Natasha said again, as if this was the answer to everything. "I show you one more!" And off she dashed again.

"How much did all this cost?" James asked.

"Not too much," Maria said. "She'll grow out of them by the end of the summer in any event."

"Oh man." James sank down in his chair. "I didn't have to do any of this when I was five. My mom just bought stuff and threw it at me when she got home."

"Poor thing," Maria said without the slightest hint of sympathy. "Natasha loves to shop, so get used to it."

"Ugh."

Natasha ran back into the room. On seeing what she was wearing, James sat bolt upright. "Daddy!" Natasha said, arms flung out. "This is my bikini!"

"What," James said.

"It's blue and yellow!" Natasha told him, running over to lean against his knee. "And it has green fishies!" She pointed at the fabric. "See?"

"Yes, I see," James said, glaring at Maria. "Blue and yellow make green, after all."

"They do!" Natasha said, beaming. "Daddy, I'm going to wear my bikini all day!"

"Come over here," Maria said, holding out her hand for Natasha. The woman tugged the fabric down into place on Natasha's ribcage. "This isn't a bikini, it's a sports suit."

True enough, the top was more tank-shaped than bikini-shaped, but that still left James' daughter wearing a two-piece bathing suit that exposed her pudgy little tummy.

"And it'll give her room to grow nice and tall," Maria went on, her eyes narrowing in a warning to James.

"I can't wait to be tall!" Natasha exclaimed, putting her arms high over her head. She was smiling so happily that James pushed his own discomfort back, and smiled at his little girl.

"Say thank you to Maria for taking you shopping," he said.

Natasha hugged Maria and proclaimed her everlasting love and affection for the woman, then James picked his daughter up and carried her to the door to see Maria off. "Make sure you listen at your swim lessons," Maria admonished the child. "And I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay!"

"Thanks again," James said grudgingly. "We both appreciate it."

"I know," Maria said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home and sleep for the rest of the day."

After waving Maria off down the street, James looked at Natasha. "What do you say we go grocery shopping now?"

"I want to wear my bathing suit," Natasha said immediately.

Luckily, James had been through this when Natasha had first started ballet class and had wanted to wear her dance leotard for four days in a row. "Sweet pea, if you wear your bathing suit today and it gets dirty, you won't be able to wear it to swim class on Monday," he said calmly.

The look of abject alarm on Natasha's face almost made James feel bad, but not enough to relent. Natasha couldn't get changed back into her clothes fast enough, and off they went to the grocery store.

However, in the middle of the produce section, as James tried to decide on which lettuce to buy for salad, Natasha suddenly let out a screech. "Daddy!" she said, grabbing at his pant leg. "I have _three_ bathing suits! I could wear _one_ today and _another_ on Monday!"

She looked so mortally offended that James had to hide a smile. "You know what?" James said, crouching down, "You're right. I never even thought of that."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "When I get home," she threatened, "I will put on my bathing suit and _wear it!_ "

"If that's what you want to do."

"It is!"

"Okay, but how about you help me pick out the lettuce first?"

"I can do it!" Natasha exclaimed, satisfied with her side of the bargain.

James kissed Natasha's cheek. "You're such a helpful girl."

"Of course I am," Natasha said dismissively as she pointed. "That one. It's the _best_."

"Good choice."

* * *

Sunday passed in a whirlwind. James had managed to convince Natasha to not wear her bathing suit to sleep on Saturday night, and washed the three suits and hung them to dry before he stumbled upstairs to bed. Steve and Clint came over on Sunday for lunch as usual, and the children spent pretty much all afternoon running around in the sprinkler James set up in the back yard.

Sitting on the deck with Steve, a cold soda in his hand, James finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like weeks. They talked about everything they could think of, between rounds of applying sunscreen to two wiggly children, and when Steve and Clint finally left near dinner time, James was surprised at how reluctant he was to see them go.

After dinner and the usual Sunday preparation for a new school week, Natasha tried to argue that she could have a bath in her bathing suit, but James put his foot down. For the rest of the night, Natasha was grumpy, and not even a cup of hot chocolate could cheer her up.

Finally, after brushing teeth and getting into bed, Natasha finally broke down. "Daddy," she whispered, clinging to his hand as he tucked the blankets around her, "What if I do bad at swim lessons tomorrow?"

"It's your first lesson," James pointed out as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You are a fast learner, especially when you want to be. You'll do fine."

"But what if I sink?" Natasha demanded. "What if I fall all the way to the bottom of the pool and no one sees me?"

She was so honestly worried that James picked her up out of bed and hugged her. She clung to him, breathing noisily in his ear. "Steve is going to be right there in that pool with you," James said, rocking Natasha gently. "He's going to be watching you every second, got it?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said, her voice muffled against his neck.

"And there are going to be lifeguards, people whose job it is to keep an eye on all the swimmers," James went on. "And I'm going to be there too, in the stands watching you and only you."

Natasha wiggled around to look James in the eye. "Do you promise you'll come save me?" she whispered.

"I promise," James said solemnly. "That's what parents do. When their kids are little, they make sure they're safe, and teach them how to grow up so they can make good choices and protect themselves. That's the best reason to go to swimming lessons, so you can learn what to do in case you're in water and you need to get out."

Natasha snuggled against James, wrapping her fingers in the collar of his shirt. "What if I'm not good?"

"You're a coordinated little pumpkin, you will get the hang of things," James said. "Like at ballet class, you were really good at that. And in gym class, when you run around. You learned how to skip rope like a champion."

"But I couldn't do the arrows like Clint," Natasha said. "He can shoot them so far! And I can't."

James forbore from pointing out that Natasha had spent a grand total of ten minutes on the unfamiliar task before giving up. "Clint has been practicing archery for months, just like you've been practicing dance. Sometimes it takes that long to get good at something." He kissed the top of her head. "Ready for bed?"

"Okay."

James tucked Natasha into bed for the second time, and then it was story time. Soon enough, James was turning out the lights and saying goodnight to a sleepy little girl.

He kept one ear open for any sound of movement, but the night passed quietly. James spent a few hours working on projects he'd been delaying. It had been almost one week since Clint ran away from school, hard to believe given that so much had happened.

Finally, at midnight, James stood and started his nightly walk-through of the house. Everything went smoothly, and soon he was checking on Natasha one last time before heading to bed himself. Natasha was sound asleep, curled around Bear. James stood and watched her for a few minutes. Her breathing had evened out, so he didn't turn on the air purifier, just went off to bed.

Morning came soon enough. James had the foresight to hide the swimsuits before Natasha woke up, and got her moving with the reminder that her school had a uniform policy and it wasn't fair for her to wear her bathing suit under her clothes, because the other children weren't allowed. Thankfully she bought it, but made James promise that she could put on her bathing suit before going to the pool that afternoon. James promised, and off they went to school.

James had a work meeting in Queens that made him late enough to have to drive to the school to pick Natasha up. A quick dash home to change into swimsuit and her usual after-school t-shirt and shorts over that, and it was time for the swim lesson.

"You will be watching me?" Natasha asked for the third time as they walked toward the YMCA, her favorite green towel rolled up and tucked under her arm.

"All the time," James assured her. "And you need to make sure to pay attention to Steve."

"I promise," Natasha said. She squeezed James' hand as they entered the lobby. Clint and Steve were already there, sitting on the benches by the wall. Clint jumped up as soon as he spotted Natasha and ran over.

"Hi!" he exclaimed. "Swimming is so fun!"

But Natasha had more pressing matters at hand. "Where's your hearing aid?" she demanded. "Did you lose it?"

Clint shook his head, his hair flying. "Daddy makes me leave it at home for swim class so it don't get stolen," he said. "You gotta talk into my left ear."

"What if I talk loud into this one?" Natasha asked, and was about to reach for Clint, no doubt to yell into his right ear, before James could grab her to stop.

"We don't yell in anyone's ear," he said, going down on one knee to keep the children apart. "It could scare them or even hurt them. Clint already told you how you can talk to him when he's not wearing his hearing aid."

Natasha frowned. "Okay, but you tell me if I do it wrong," she instructed Clint. "I like it when you hear me best."

"Me too! You have a nice voice."

Steve walked up to the group, holding a sports bag by the straps. "We all ready?"

Natasha clutched at her rolled towel. "I guess," she said in a small voice, leaning against James' shoulder.

"Hey, we talked about this, remember?" James let Natasha drape herself over his arm. "You're going to go into the locker room and change, and then Steve will meet you out in the pool."

"I remember." Natasha stared at James, her green eyes so wide. "Where's the lady who's gonna take me?"

"We'll go meet her in just a minute." James patted Natasha on the back as he glanced over at Steve. "See you on the other side?"

Steve smiled at James and Natasha. "We'll be out in just a few minutes."

Natasha nodded. Steve corralled Clint, who waved back at Natasha, along toward the men's change room and out of sight. With a grunt of exertion, James stood up, then held out his hand for Natasha. "Come on," he said, "Let's get this show on the road."

Natasha, her face set in grim determination, took his hand.

James led Natasha to the administration office, where a nice teenager ( _Call me Taylor!_ ) took charge of Natasha, promising to have her in and out of the change room in a few minutes. Wanting to avoid a scene where Natasha got clingy or outright changed her mind, James thanked the young woman, patted Natasha on the shoulder, and told her he'd see her from the stands.

It only took James a few minutes to walk back around to the entrance and find his way to the pool's observation area. The pool was starting to fill up with children, ready for their lessons.

James took a seat down by the front bar, waiting nervously. He hoped Natasha got through the locker room without too much difficulty. Sometimes, when she was in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar routine, she had difficulties. But they'd talked about this, about what to expect, and James had pointed out that she needed to take off her street clothes and to have a shower before going into the pool, that was pool rules.

After a few minutes, Taylor appeared, leading Natasha by the hand. Natasha had on her little black bathing suit, her hair up in the pigtails she'd worn to school, and she looked so incredibly _tiny_. James put his hand over his mouth as Taylor bent down to say something to Natasha, then the teenager went away and Natasha stood by the wall, clutching at her still-rolled towel as she waited.

Where was Steve? He'd said he'd only be a minute. But maybe Clint needed some help, James tried to reason. They'd be out quickly enough. James just hoped it was before Natasha had a melt-down.

Meanwhile, Natasha was now holding her towel to her chest and biting her lip as she looked around. James was concentrating on her so much that he nearly missed the tall man who came up to her side, and it was then that James realized that in originally objecting to Steve taking Natasha for swim lessons, he had made one very significant tactical error.

He had neglected to realize that in order for Steve to take Natasha swimming, Steve would need to be in a swim suit.

And apparently Steve favored _speedos_.

James could only watch, mouth agape, as Steve Rogers, all six feet and three inches of him bare skin and shiny save for the small strip of fabric covering his middle parts, knelt down beside Natasha. He spoke to her and she nodded back, then she even smiled, let Steve take her towel as he stood, and she held his hand as they walked around the pool towards the observation area.

It wasn't fair, James thought weakly, that Steve could look so good in clothes, and even better out of them. His shoulders were wide, his arms well-muscled, and the thin sprinkle of chest hair did nothing to hide the man's abs. And dear lord, it wasn't as if Steve ever skipped leg day – his thighs were muscular, his calves well-defined.

He was _impossible_.

James shifted around on the bench, leaning forward just a little as Natasha and Steve approached. Natasha was nearly vibrating with excitement. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, craning her neck to look up at him. "I'm going to go swimming!"

"Good," was all James could say. "And you're going to listen to Steve?"

"Uh huh."

"Good." Steeling himself, James shifted his gaze to Steve. The man had tiny droplets of water clinging to his skin from the pre-pool shower and his skin looked really soft and James needed to pull himself _together_. "Good luck," James said inanely.

"We're going to do just fine," Steve said with a smile. "Come on, Nat, let's go get started."

"Bye Daddy!" Natasha shouted, and off they went.

If anything, watching Steve walk away in a speedo was even worse.

Behind James on the bleachers, he heard a woman mutter "Sweet Baby Jesus," in a fervent whisper.

As the blood slowly returned to James' extremities, Steve had guided Natasha over to the shallow end of the pool. He hopped into the water and held up his hands for Natasha, but she shook her head. It took a few minutes of coaxing to get Natasha to sit on the edge of the pool and dangle her feet in the water. Even though James couldn't hear what they were saying, he could tell that Steve was talking to Natasha the whole time, his body language calm.

Natasha slowly relaxed, reaching into the water with her hands. After another minute, she held her arms out and let Steve lift her into the water. With great care, Steve moved away from the side of the pool, towing Natasha through the water. She clung to his arm, but the expression on her face was one of delight, not fear.

The class soon started. The instructor gathered five parent-child groups around him to begin. Natasha was not the smallest child there, nor the oldest, but James thought she paid the closest attention to what the instructor was saying. The lesson, as Steve had promised, was just an introduction to the water, so Natasha and Steve spent the next thirty minutes kicking and floating around. There was even one part where some of the children ducked their heads under water, but Natasha adamantly refused, going so far as to clamber up Steve's chest to cling to his neck, to avoid having to put her face in the water.

As the lesson drew to a close, the instructor motioned for the children to float on their backs, with the adults to hold them in place. Natasha obediently lay on her back, her arms and legs spread out like a starfish, with Steve's hands underneath her to keep her secure. James bit his knuckle as he watched Steve and Natasha working together. Of all the things for James to be glad about finding Steve again, he hadn't realized that Natasha would get along with Steve so well, and it made James warm down to his toes.

"Hi!"

James nearly fell off the bench. Clint had come up to the observation area, water dripping from his hair and his swim trunks. "Hi Clint, are you done your lesson?" James said, keeping his voice from going too loud.

"Yup." Clint shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. "I got to swim backstroke today!"

"That's cool," James said, faintly surprised that they would have five-year-olds practicing such complicated techniques.

"Yeah, but then the instructor told me to stop," Clint said, looking tragic. James suppressed a smile. "Okay, bye." And with that, Clint walked off towards the locker room.

In the meantime, Steve and Natasha had climbed out of the pool and Steve wrapped Natasha in her towel. Standing, Steve looked in James' direction and pointed at the lobby. James nodded, but he waited until he saw Natasha join up with Taylor and go into the women's change room before he stood.

About ten minutes later, James was reading the notices on the lobby wall when he heard a piercing shriek of "Daddy!" accompanied by a collision against his leg. He looked down to find Natasha, hair still wet but wearing her street clothes, clinging to his leg. She was deliriously happy. "Daddy, did you _see me_?"

"I did," James said, bending over to scoop Natasha up onto his right arm. "You did super great today."

"I know!" Natasha puffed her chest out importantly. "I told you I would be the best!"

James kissed her cheek, then turned to Taylor. The young woman, smiling, held out Natasha's towel rolled up. "We got her changed out of her swimsuit but she didn't have any underwear, so maybe bring some next time."

"Now that is a smart idea." James set Natasha down and reached into his pocket. "Thanks so much for your help today," he said as he handed the teenager a ten-dollar bill.

The teenager grinned at the sight of the cash. "I'll be here every week," she said, and blushed. "Bye Natasha!"

"Bye Taylor!" Natasha said, and waved until the teenager was out of sight. By then Steve and Clint had come out of the locker room. James had to tamp down his hormones at the memory of what Steve looked like under those clothes. "Daddy, can we have ice cream?"

James looked at his daughter. "Really?"

"We need ice cream!" Natasha insisted, running over to Clint. "Do you think we need ice cream?" she said into Clint's left ear.

"Oh yeah," Clint said solemnly, nodding his agreement. "For sure."

James looked at Steve. "Do you have to run off?"

"No, we could get some ice cream," Steve said, smiling indulgently at the children. "But I don't know any place around here."

"How about we drive you home and we can find a place near you?" James suggested.

Steve transferred his smile from the kids to James. "That would be perfect."

His insides melting, James managed to keep his voice normal as he said to the children, "Come on, chop chop!" and herded everyone towards the door.

In the parking lot, after the adults got the children buckled in the back seat, Steve and James climbed into the front seat. With Natasha and Clint talking loudly in the back, James took a moment before starting the engine to look over at Steve. The man was looking at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "What?"

"I… that's a nice suit you're wearing today." Steve's ears had gone pink.

Okay, that was a bit of a non sequitur. James figured that Steve must just have water on the brain. "You know, work," James said as he started the jeep. "Okay, who's ready for ice cream?"

The screams from the backseat were deafening.

* * *

Weeks passed, and soon it was the Friday night of Natasha's dance recital. James, who had dutifully invited Steve and Clint at Natasha's insistence, was back-stage before the event began, talking Natasha through a case of the jitters.

"Remember what we talked about," James said, patting Natasha's back as the little girl leaned against him. "You are part of a team out there, and the way that you are the best…"

"…Is if I help everyone be the best," Natasha finished. She rubbed her nose. "Daddy, will you be watching me?"

"I will be watching you," he promised, shifting Natasha around so he could straighten her butterfly wings. "And Steve will be there and so will Clint, and we're all going to be watching you dance your very best."

"And then can we go for hot chocolate?"

James chucked Natasha under the chin. "After you dance, there's the performance by the grown-up ballerinas, remember?"

Natasha pouted. "And then hot chocolate?"

James caved. "Yes, then we can go for hot chocolate. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"All right, high five."

They high-fived, low-fived, then Natasha gave James a sudden quick hug before running off to join her classmates, who were huddled against the far wall. James stood, dusted off his knees and went to find a seat.

While James had been backstage, Steve and Clint had arrived. There was a seat beside them with Steve's jacket tossed over it, and James inched his way through the crowd to them. "Hey, anyone sitting here?" he asked.

Steve shook his head. "Nah, make yourself comfortable." While James moved the jacket and sat, Steve pulled Clint onto his lap. "How's Natasha doing?"

"She's ready, as much as she can be for her first performance." James glanced at Clint, who had his hand clapped over his right ear. "What's up, Clint?"

Clint pulled a face. "People's too loud."

"Let me look at the volume on that," Steve said, tilting Clint's head to get a glimpse of his hearing aid. James held out his metal hand to keep Clint from overbalancing, and soon enough the adjustment was complete.

Clint slid off Steve's lap to pick something up off the neighboring chair. "Look at what I got," he said to James, climbing back onto Steve's knee. "This is a _story_."

James opened the comic book. The pictures were bright and happy, the characters a series of cartoon animals. The only thing out of the ordinary was that the words themselves were in Spanish.

After a moment's thought, however, James gave a shrug. If Clint couldn't read yet, then it didn't matter what language the story was in. "Do you like your story?" James asked, handing Clint back the comic.

"Yes." Clint grasped the comic in his teeth while he put on his glasses, then he solemnly leaned back against Steve's chest and opened the book.

Steve looked at James with a barely smothered smile on his face. "The librarian was really helpful," he said in a low voice. "Clint went from zero to sixty with her, came home with ten comics he wants to read."

"Good," James said, unable to keep from smiling. "Maybe the kids can look at the comics together one day."

"I hope so." Steve put his arm around Clint's torso to keep him from falling. "I should mention that to Skye, for the summer."

"Speaking of which," James put in, "Skye wanted to know what your philosophy on screen time is."

Steve stared at him blankly. "What my what?"

"Screen time. With Clint. TV and computers and stuff."

Steve ran his hand over Clint's hair; the boy never looked up from his comic. "I don't know, Clint's never really been interested in that stuff. I don't have a tablet, and we never really watch TV."

"Would you be okay if Skye used computers with the kids this summer?"

"I don't know," Steve said helplessly. "What do you do?"

James also did not have a tablet computer; he had a hard enough time using his phone with only one hand. He preferred a full keyboard for typing, one large enough that he could hit the keys with the imprecise touch of his metal fingers. Natasha was not interested much in his work computer, which she considered frightfully boring. "Last year, Nat was still learning her letters, and Skye stuck with flash cards and stuff. This year, with her reading… I don't know."

"What does Skye think?"

"Skye's working in a lab that measures computer influence on childhood development," James said with a shrug. "I told her that Natasha wasn't a good test subject, she was too wily."

"I don't know." Steve looked down at Clint, who was in the process of giggling at his story. "Maybe we'll see what happens?"

"Okay." James tapped the back of Clint's hand. "Hey, can you tell me what your story is about?"

This carried them along until the performance started. Steve moved over so Clint was seated between him and James, and made sure the boy was occupied as the ten-year-olds began their number.

James, who had spent long hours as a Ranger under cover and motionless in the field, was restless as he waited for Natasha's class to come on. Steve was pretending to be interested, but even so James could tell by the jiggling of his leg that Steve wasn't exactly captivated.

Clint, however, was so deeply buried in his story book that he didn't glance up when the applause ended a performance.

As yet another class shifted off stage, James caught Steve's eyes. They looked at each other over Clint's head, no change in expression, but James fancied that Steve was just as bored as he was, and hiding it about as well.

The things they did for their kids.

Finally, the second-to-last performance of the children's classes came on, and it was Natasha's number. Steve took the book from Clint and caught his attention; the boy quickly pulled his glasses off and climbed up on his knees so he could see the stage.

There was a hush, a few notes of piano music, and then Natasha's class danced on stage in their black leotards, brightly colored tights, and butterfly wings. They all looked so serious, all the little five- and six-year-olds prancing in a circle in time with the music, and James was struck with a wild desire to laugh. It was just all so _cute_.

Natasha was the easiest to spot, in her blue tights with her bright red hair. She was very intense, keeping an eye on the other dancers and on Madame, going through the steps she had been practicing all month. James was actually quite impressed at how well things were going when, after a few minutes, Natasha must have caught sight of them in the audience, for she broke into a grin and waved at him as she trotted to the far side of the stage.

James waved back, and so did Clint, his little hand waving wildly. Steve caught him after a moment and held him still, and then the class finished up their number in a running star pattern, and then they pranced off the stage. James clapped his hand against his leg, smiling as he saw Clint applauding with fierce approval.

While the stage cleared for the last dance before the intermission, Steve leaned over to James. "I'm going to take Clint into the lobby, he's on the edge," Steve whispered.

"Okay, see you in a few."

Steve scooped up child, jacket and book all in one motion, and made his way out of the auditorium before the next number began. James pretended to pay attention to the teenagers, but he was really thinking about Natasha and Steve and Clint, and how nice it was that Steve had brought Clint that night to support Natasha. Having Steve in their lives was turning out so well, and knowing that Natasha and Clint would be together all summer eased some of the tension in James' chest.

After the teenagers floated off-stage, the ballet company's president came up to the microphone and announced a twenty-minute intermission, after which the students would join the audience to watch a performance by the professional dancers. James escaped into the lobby with the mass of parents, to find Steve and Clint sitting on a couch along the far wall where Steve was reading to Clint.

James collapsed onto the couch at Steve's side, and listened to Steve's calm voice until the man finished the chapter. Then he closed the book and said, "That was a fun dance recital, Clint. What do you think?"

Clint rubbed his cheek. "I don't know about all of them," he confessed. "But I liked Natasha's dance. She danced real good."

"You should tell her that," James said, just as the dance students streamed into the lobby. Natasha bounced over to where they were sitting and jumped on James' lap.

"Daddy, did you see me?" she exclaimed. "I danced with the team!"

"You did real good!" Clint said before James could get a word in edgewise. "You were the best butterfly I ever saw!"

"Aw, thank you!" Natasha leaned over to give Clint a big hug, her butterfly wing nearly decapitating James in the process. "I like that you came, you're my best friend!"

"You did a super job," Steve put in, reaching out to prevent the children from toppling to the floor. "Was this your first recital?"

He knew it was, James had told him so the previous week when he was convincing Steve to spend his time and money on this little event, but Natasha beamed at Steve. "Yes it was!" Natasha said, disentangling herself from Clint. "Daddy, what did you think?"

"I thought you were outstanding and very professional," James said, helping Natasha and Clint stand. "Very grown-up."

As Natasha's chest swelled with importance, Steve caught James' eye. "How long is the next part?" Steve asked quietly, as the children chattered happily.

"Half an hour. You want to bail?"

"I don't think I can keep Clint quiet for that long."

"How about we meet up for hot chocolate after?" James suggested. "It's only seven. There's a bookstore down the street you could take Clint."

Steve looked thoughtful. "As long as we get home by nine. Clint's last soccer game of the season is tomorrow afternoon."

"Yeah, that'll work."

"Daddy!" Natasha interrupted. "Clint asked me to come to his game tomorrow! Can we go?" She pouted dramatically. "Can we?"

"Where's the game?" James asked Steve. Steve named the field and the time. "Sure, as long as we get the grocery shopping done in the morning."

"Yay!" cheered the children, jumping in place.

"Okay, we'll see you in a while," Steve said, gathering Clint up. Natasha waved at them until they were out of sight in the crush of the crowd.

"Daddy, I like it when Clint comes to things I do," she said, crawling up beside James on the sofa. "He's so much fun."

"Good," James said. "Are you looking forward to seeing Clint every day this summer?"

"Yes!" Natasha stretched out her feet and pointed her toes. "Then we can play games and read stories and do crafts! I bet Clint likes Skye just like I do."

"Good."

"And I like Steve too," Natasha added. "He makes you smile. Not everyone makes you smile, Daddy. Sometimes you are grumpy."

"I'm not always grumpy," James protested.

"Yes you are." Natasha looked at him. "You make the grumpy face." She pulled a face at him. "Like that."

"Is that so, huh?" James wrinkled his nose into what he thought might be an acceptable grumpy face. Natasha laughed. "Maybe I'm just a grumpy old man."

"You're silly," Natasha declared.

"Yeah, well." A bell chimed, and people started moving back into the auditorium. "Are you ready to go see the grown-up ballerinas?"

Natasha jumped to her feet and dragged James every step of the way back into the auditorium. At seeing Natasha so happy, James decided, he could put up with any level of boredom.

* * *

"I swear to god, I thought I was going to fall asleep right there in the auditorium," James said to Steve the next day as they both stood by the playground next to the soccer field, watching Clint and Natasha run wild over the equipment.

"Weren't they good?" Steve asked.

"They were great," James said. "I just…. Ballet's not for me."

"I'm the same way with opera," Steve confessed. "Pepper had me take her a few years ago, some world-famous opera, best performance in fifty years, but I just didn't get into it."

James turned to look at Steve. "Yeah, 'cause it's opera."

Steve elbowed James in the ribs. "Pepper likes it."

"From the sounds of things, Pepper has actual class, which us bums from Brooklyn are missing in spades."

"Pepper sure does have class," Steve mused. "Makes me wonder how a guy like Tony ever got her to look at him twice."

James, who knew nothing about Pepper Potts outside what had been reported in the papers (and of which he suspected ninety-nine percent of that was wrong), kept his eyes on the children.

"They offered me a spot for Clint at St. Ursula's next fall," Steve said unexpectedly.

"That's great, Steve."

"Yeah, I just… I don't know what to do."

"Is it the money?"

"Part of it," Steve confessed. "I mean, you know how much college costs now. I always thought I'd try to save up so Clint could go, save him the student loans I had."

James, who had been through a similar mental tussle when Natasha had been accepted to the pricey private school, kept his mouth shut.

"And then it's like… I don't want Clint to get spoiled, you know? I want him to understand what real life's like."

James couldn't hold it in any longer. "If real life is where the grown-ups bully a little boy because he can't see the board, then fuck real life," he said, surprised at how fiercely his chest hurt. "I don't know about getting spoiled or anything, but Nat's doing really good at that school and I know Clint would too."

"I know that!" Steve exclaimed, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting the children's attention. "It's just that this is a big step and I can't get ahold of Sharon to talk to her about it."

"What's to talk about?" James demanded. "Hey, I got our kid into a super school and I can pay for it myself? And why can't you get hold of Sharon?"

"Her company says she's in Estonia on a real estate deal and they can't reach her," Steve said.

James had never heard of a real estate agent being unreachable before. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, they say she's fine, but she'll be unreachable for a few weeks."

James kept his opinions to himself. Sharon and Steve's relationship was none of his goddamn business. "This isn't about Clint's mother, or your problems, Steve. This is about doing what's best for Clint. If you think keeping him in public school is best, then do it. If you think it's St. Ursula's, then call Ms. Green and tell her Clint will be starting in the fall. But don't let this slip away."

Steve put his hands on his hips and watched the children for a while. Then, his back to James, Steve said, "I had to turn up Clint's hearing aid today."

"Yeah, 'cause you turned it down at the recital last night."

"No, that's not…" Steve finally turned around. "It's more than that. I think… I think his right ear is getting worse."

Oh. _Oh_.

"I got an appointment for Clint on Tuesday with his doctor, just in case…. You know. So I know." 

"Yeah, I know." James put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Clint couldn't have a better dad than you, you know that, right?"

"I just wish that was enough."

They stood, watching the children jump and run around, screaming at the top of their lungs, until it was time to go over to the soccer field.

The last soccer game of the year, and everyone had turned out. Steve staked out a spot by the bench to watch.

"What, we got to stand?" James demanded.

"It's only for forty-five minutes," Steve said.

"You got me out here under false pretenses," James grumbled as the coaches gathered their hyperactive charges around.

"I'll buy you dinner if you quit your yapping," Steve said, and he was smiling as he said it.

A small person cleared her throat. James and Steve looked down. "I want dinner too," Natasha said plaintively. "And I can't see."

"Well, that's not good," Steve said. "You want to sit on my shoulders?"

Natasha nodded solemnly. "Daddy never ups me," she said as Steve turned her around and effortlessly lifted her onto his broad shoulders.

"That's because Daddy only has one arm and can't," James pointed out easily.

"I know," Natasha said, grabbing a handful of Steve's hair to steady herself. "You can do all kinds of things Steve can't, Daddy."

"Like what?" James asked, momentarily distracted from the field.

"You can bake super cakes," Natasha declared. "And you tell really good stories."

"I bet Steve can do those things too," James said. "Now don't wiggle around."

"Okay."

"Thanks," James said to Steve. "It's just, my arm, you know."

"No, it's good," Steve assured him.

"Put her down if she gets heavy."

"I will."

Then the game began.

James, who hadn't ever really paid much attention to children's sports, was not terribly surprised to see the five-year-olds ignoring the rules to move across the field in a huddle around the ball. The boys ran around in no discernable pattern, and it was a miracle that anyone scored any goals. But the other team eventually pulled ahead, and the score was soon nine to four.

Clint's coach called a time out, and the boys came over. At this point, Natasha wanted down, so Steve set her on the grass. "Daddy," Natasha said seriously. "Do I have to play soccer?"

She looked so honestly worried that James knelt to speak with her quietly. "You only have to play sports you want to play," he said. "Right now, you're in dance and in swimming, and that's a lot for a little girl."

The look of relief on her face nearly made James smile. "I don't think I'd like soccer," Natasha whispered in James' ear.

"That's your choice," James told her. "But other children like soccer and that's okay too."

"Clint doesn't," Natasha confided. "He wants soccer to be over so he can play on the playground."

"Well." James wasn't sure what to say to this. "This is the last game of the season for Clint."

"I know _that_ ," Natasha said, rolling her eyes. "He told me."

Then the whistle sounded, and the children ran out to the field. Whatever the coach told them stuck, for Clint's team spread out across the field. Clint ran to the far side and stood, shoulders dropping, bored.

Natasha blew a raspberry and promptly sat on the grass.

The game resumed. Clint's team held their positions for a few minutes, but then most of the boys drifted back to the ball. Clint stayed where he was, though, and it took James a moment to realize that Clint had zoned out and was looking for birds in the sky.

"Maybe Clint should stick to archery," James said in an undertone to Steve.

Steve stepped on his foot.

It all happened so fast, James nearly missed it. One of the children in the huddle around the ball gave a mighty kick and the ball was punted down the field, landing in the grass at Clint's feet. Clint stared for a moment, uncertain, then as the coaches and spectators started yelling, he kicked the ball and started running after it.

Towards his own goal.

"Oh no," Steve said. "Clint! _Clint!_ "

James put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and clear. Clint stopped dead and looked at the sidelines.

"Go the other way!" James shouted, pointing at the far end of the field. Clint looked around, set his shoulders, and began to kick the ball back in the right direction.

The only thing that stood between him and the other team's goal was a mass of five-year-olds, all barreling down on tiny Clint.

"I can't," Steve said, grabbing at James' arm. "He's going to get trampled."

Natasha was on her feet and cheering for her friend, enthusiastic even if she didn't know why.

"Go, Clint, you can do it!" James yelled. "Run!"

Clint ran right into the huddle of children. James wasn't even sure of the boy saw them, he was so intent on the ball. For a moment there was confusion, then Clint was out the other side, still in possession of the ball, running towards the other team's goal.

The coach put his hands to his mouth and yelled, " _KICK!_ "

Clint kicked the ball, right into the net.

The next few minutes were filled with pandemonium. Steve clung weakly to James' arm, while Natasha demanded _up_ to cheer her friend properly. The referees gradually got the game going again.

"I swear to god," Steve muttered. "That was terrifying."

"Maybe you should stick to solo sports too," James said, elbowing Steve in the side. "That was one hell of a play."

Natasha cheered some more.

Clint's team lost fifteen to five, but Natasha made so much of Clint on the way to get ice cream that Clint was grinning ear-to-ear. "Daddy," Clint said as they all sat on a park bench. Both children had melted popsicle juice covering their hands and mouths. "I scored a goal."

"You sure did," Steve said. "How did that make you feel?"

"Okay." Clint licked his empty popsicle stick. "Do I have to play again next year?"

"Only if you want to."

"I don't want to," Clint said immediately. He shoved the popsicle stick at Steve. "C'mon, Natasha, let's go play dragons."

"Okay!" Natasha shoved her half-eaten popsicle at James and tore after Clint.

"I guess that's that," James said. He ate the purple ice off the stick before it could melt onto his jeans. "You okay with that?"

"I told him he had to stick out to the end of the year, and he did," Steve said. "I guess that's what it is."

"So now what?"

Steve leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees. "I guess I want Clint to go to that school," he said. "It's going to cost a shit-load of money, but you're right, it's a good opportunity for him."

"You're doing the right thing," James said quietly.

"I know." Steve looked over his shoulder at James. "With Clint at your house all summer, and in school with Natasha next fall, you're going to be seeing so much of us that you're going to get sick of us."

The sun was shining through Steve's hair, the gold highlights waving in the breeze, and James was struck with a pang of longing so deep that it hurt. "We're never going to get sick of you," he said, trying to smile. "You might get sick of us, though."

"As if." Steve stood. "Come on, let's go see what those kids are getting up to."

Across the playground, the children were laughing.


	11. Boplicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Boplicity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLzqjmoZZAc) by Miles Davis

* * *

James was just putting the breakfast dishes into the sink when his phone beeped. _hey would it be okay if I showed up early?_ read Skye's text message.

Natasha busy at the table, James typed back _how early_

The response came in the form of the doorbell ringing. Natasha scrambled out of her chair and ran toward the door, her father in pursuit "Hey Nat," James said. "Remember what we know about doorbells?"

"Always got to see who it is first!" Natasha said, bouncing up and down as James deactivated the house alarm. "Who is it?"

James glanced through the glass to see Skye standing on his front porch. He unlocked the door swung it open to the sounds of Natasha's rapturous screams of welcome. "Hey."

"Hi, Mr. Barnes," Skye said, holding out her arms for Natasha. The little girl jumped at Skye, wriggling in her excitement. "I hardly recognized you, Natasha, you're growing so big!"

"I am!" Natasha said in agreement, flexing her biceps. James hid his smile. "I'm big and strong and I'm almost six!"

"Nat."

"Five and a half," Natasha amended, unapologetic. "It's the same thing."

"Sure is." Skye was smiling at the child. "I love your outfit."

Natasha struck a pose, to show off her headache-inducing combination of rainbow leggings, bright green shirt and red dance tutu. "Daddy says I gotta dress to have fun, but not princess-fun. Run-around fun."

"That was a smart idea," Skye said. "I hope we can go to the park today and have fun."

"I love the park!" Natasha squealed.

"All right, Natasha," James interrupted. "Let's help Skye get all her stuff inside, okay?"

Skye gave James a grateful glance as she picked up a large box to move into the house. "My roommates gave me a lift to get this stuff over here," she said by way of explanation. "Some stuff for the kids, art supplies and the like."

"Expense me," James instructed as he went to pick up the handles of a large canvas bag; with his prosthesis still upstairs, there was a limit on how much he could help. "Nat, pick up that roll of paper, will you?"

Natasha jumped at the order; wrestling a large roll of butcher's paper into the house. It took James and Skye a few more trips, but they got everything inside in good time. James left Natasha digging through one of the boxes for stickers and took Skye into the kitchen.

"Things should be okay this week," he said as he poured her a cup of coffee. "We have swim lessons this afternoon, but I'm going to be here all day. I've got physio tomorrow but I won't leave until nine."

"Sounds good." Skye accepted the coffee gratefully. "For this first week, I thought we could just do whatever the kids want. Playground, water sprinkler, art projects, that kind of thing. I've got some worksheets to help Clint with his reading, but I want to see how much he knows already."

James moved the last of the breakfast dishes into the sink. "He can write his name," James offered. "Other than that, he's good at drawing. He's had his glasses in school for a month, not sure how much he took in since then."

"How's Natasha with her letters?"

"She's getting better. She still doesn't like how sometimes the same letter can sound different sometimes."

Skye let out a huff of agreement. "Her and me both, Mr. B."

James turned on the tap. "You should probably call me James. Clint does."

Skye's lips twisted up in a small smile. "Sure thing, James." She set her coffee cup down. "I'm going to go get stuff set up. Living room okay?"

"Yeah." James adjusted the water temperature. "I think we might move you guys up to the third floor next week, I just need to get a cleaner to come in and get rid of the dust before I send Natasha up there."

"Okay." Skye headed out of the kitchen, and James heard her say, "Hey, Natasha, how about you show me around the house?"

"Okay!" Natasha said. "I show you the bathroom, that's the most important room. Even if it's haunted by the Fart Ghost."

James raised his eyebrows at the sink, but decided to follow up on that particular train of thought at a later time. He had dishes to clean, and he was running out of time before Steve and Clint arrived.

Luckily, over six years James had developed an ideal triage system for loading the dishwasher one-handed. He could hear Skye and Natasha tromping around on the second story, then down the stairs and presumably into the basement. Glancing at the clock, James made another pot of coffee, in case Steve was able to stay for a cup after dropping Clint off, then wiped down the counters and went in search of his phone.

There was one text from Steve, a terse _running late b there soon_ , sent about twenty minutes before. James typed back _c u then_ , and took the few minutes with Natasha occupied to boot up his office computer to check his email.

From the sounds of things in the living room, Skye had enlisted Natasha to organizing the art supplies. There was the occasional loud bang, but as no screaming or tears followed, James let the two of them be.

Half an hour later, James' phone pinged with a new text from Steve. _Off the train see you in five._ James stood and stretched, then headed into the living room to find Skye and Natasha playing a rousing hand of Go Fish.

"They're going to be here soon," James said.

"Quiet, Daddy!" Natasha scolded, never looking up from her cards. "I am winning!" She looked at Skye with narrowed eyes. "Four."

Skye made a show of disappointment as she handed over the four of spades. "You're good at this game," she told Natasha. "We should play with Clint later today."

"Okay." Natasha laid her pair of fours down beside a stack of similarly paired cards. "But I am going to win."

"What do you get if you win?" James asked, giving the room a once-over to make sure things were in place.

"A sticker sheet. Of _princesses_."

"Sounds good." Hoping Skye also had something in her sticker arsenal to appeal to an almost-six-year-old boy, James headed over to the front window to keep an eye on the street.

Sure enough, Steve soon appeared at the end of the street. He was moving slowly, however, and it took James a few moments to see why. Clint was dragging along slowly behind his father. James frowned at the sight of what Clint was wearing. Far from the shorts and t-shirt he had been sporting the previous day, today Clint was dressed in dress trousers and a long-sleeved button-down shirt with a collar. His head hung low and every step he took was like he was being led to the gallows.

"What the hell are you doing, Steve?" James muttered under his breath. He stepped away from the window and went to open the front door. Steve was standing at the end of the walk, trying to move Clint up to the house, but the boy had planted his feet and wasn't moving.

"Clint, come on," Steve was saying. "I need to get to work."

"Nice morning," James said casually, strolling down the steps. "Going to be a hot day, too."

Dropping the large sports bag he carried, Steve shot an annoyed glare at James. "This outfit was his idea," Steve said. "Don't start?"

James held up his hand in surrender. "Just trying to help." He edged past Steve and went over to Clint, kneeing down to talk to the boy. "Hey, Clint, I'm glad you could come over today."

Clint didn't say anything, just looked at James with wide eyes. Gone was the excited little boy who only the day before had run screaming around the playground for over two hours while Steve and James sat on a bench and talked about property taxes and boring adult shit.

James rubbed his chin on his left shoulder, his half-arm protruding from his t-shirt. Clint's eyes tracked the movement of the arm. "Skye has some fun stuff for us to do today," James went on. Clint's expression dropped. "We can do drawing, and go to the park, and play in the sprinkler. And then we have swim classes later tonight."

"That's right." Steve put his hand on Clint's shoulder. "But first, we have to go inside."

Dragging his feet, Clint headed glumly toward the house. James stood, his knees protesting. "What the hell is going on?" James asked quietly, following Steve up the walk. "He was fine yesterday."

"I know!" Steve said, turning back to talk to James. "He was like this when I woke up this morning."

"Did you try talking to him?"

Steve stopped dead; James nearly ran into him. "No, talking to him never crossed my mind," Steve said sarcastically. "I spent the entire train ride here talking about how much fun he was going to have with Natasha this summer, and you know what he did? He sat there the entire time holding onto his glasses like someone was going to steal them."

Clint had stopped halfway up the steps and was watching them. James nudged Steve. "Come on, we'll talk about this inside."

They managed to get Clint through the doors, but there the boy planted himself beside Steve and wouldn't move. James slipped past the Rogers and gestured for Skye to join them. The young woman came over, a welcoming smile on her face for Clint. "Hi there," Skye said, crouching down to talk to Clint. "I'm Skye. It's nice to meet you, Clint. Your dad and Natasha have told me a lot about you."

Clint's only response was to put his index finger in his mouth and to move further behind Steve's leg.

Skye's smile never faltered. "Natasha and I were just going to start on some drawing. Will you come over and draw too?"

Steve bent down and held Clint's shoulders while he moved back. "Clint would love to go draw," Steve said, giving Clint a little push in Skye's direction. "I have to go to work, and I'll be back in time for swim lessons, okay?"

Clint let Skye take his hand and lead him to the coffee table, all the while looking back over his shoulder at Steve with huge sad eyes.

"Is he sick or something?" James asked once Natasha's loud exclamations of welcome drowned out the adults' voices. "Did he have a bad sleep?"

"I don't know!" Steve said in exasperation. "Normally I'd stay to get him settled, but I've got a meeting I can't miss."

"I'll be here all day," James said. "If everything goes straight to shit, we can watch movies until you get back and try again tomorrow."

"Yeah." Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "I've got all Clint's stuff." He lifted the sports bag to the hall table and unzipped the bag to riffle through its contents. "Swim clothes for later, his hearing aid case with an extra battery…" This Steve extracted and placed on the table. "I brought a change of play clothes in case he wants to get out of that monkey suit. Also his water bottle, some snacks, his comic books, his blanket in case he wants to take a nap—"

James put his hand on top of Steve's. "He'll be okay," James said. "I promise."

Steve was still, staring down at James' hand. "Yeah," Steve said after a minute. "Just… yeah."

"Do you need to get moving?"

"Yeah." Steve stood back, and James reluctantly withdrew his hand. "I should bring my bike over, if I'm going to drop Clint off every morning."

"What good is a bike going to do for you getting into Manhattan?" James asked.

A sudden grin sparkled across Steve's face. "Motorcycle," Steve said. "I built it from the ground up in high school, still have it."

James was diverted from their current problems by the mental image of Steve Rogers on a motorcycle. He swallowed. "Why don't you ride it more?"

"Clint's too small." Steve slapped James on the shoulder. "I should get going."

"Yeah." James turned around, watching as Steve went over to say goodbye to Clint. The little boy was kneeling beside Natasha at the coffee table, crayon clutched in his little hand, but he hadn't made a mark on his paper. Natasha, on the other hand, was in the middle of a vibrant scrawl. Steve said a few words to Clint, patted the boy on the head, and straightened up and came back over to the hallway. "We'll be fine."

"I hope so." Steve hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know if it'll make any difference, but you can call me if you need to."

James fixed Steve with a glare. "Go to work."

Steve left, and James closed the door before making his way over to the sofa. Natasha was chattering happily to Skye about all the fun things she wanted to do that summer, with Skye gently encouraging her on. Clint sat still and silent, watching Skye's every move.

James sat down. As Natasha talked, Skye tried to engage Clint in the conversation, but the boy steadfastly refused to open his mouth. After a few minutes, James put his hand on Clint's shoulder. "Hey, Clint," James said quietly. "Do you want to put your glasses on so you can see better?"

Clint shook his head.

"Okay." James patted Clint's shoulder in reassurance, then sat back to watch.

Skye changed her tactics, leaning against the table and saying to the children, "How about we draw something fun we want to do this summer?"

"I'll do it!" Natasha said immediately, reaching for a clean sheet of paper. "I want to do so much! I want to go swimming, and go to the park, and ride a horse, and eat pizza!"

"That's a lot of fun," Skye said. "How about you, Clint? What do you want to do this summer?"

Clint bent his head over his paper. He drew a small circle with his blue crayon, then set it down to fiddle with the edges of the paper. "Go do arrows," whispered the boy.

"That's a good idea," James said. At Skye's inquiring look, he said, "Clint is an exceptional archer. He has classes on Friday afternoons."

"Archery?" Skye's face lit up. "That's really neat. I don't think I know anyone who's into archery."

If she wanted to engage Clint in conversation, it backfired; Clint shrank in on himself and stared at the paper.

Damn it, what was going on? James slipped off the couch and came over to the table, where he knelt between the children. He put his hand on Clint's forehead, but there was no hint of fever. "Hey, kids," James said. Both Natasha and Clint looked up at him. "Now's a good time for a body break."

"What's a body break?" Natasha asked, springing to her feet.

"We look after the body. Go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, shake out the wiggles." James went up on his knees to demonstrate this last, to Natasha's amusement. "So who needs to go pee?"

"I do!" Natasha ran in the direction of the first-floor bathroom. Clint just shook his head, even though James knew it had been a long trip for him on the subway that morning.

"How about water?" James asked. "Your dad said he brought your water bottle, it's over there." He pointed at the hall table.

Obligingly, Clint stood and walked over to the table. He reached up to retrieve his bottle, uncapped the lid, then sat on the floor to drink.

With the children momentarily occupied, James turned to Skye. "What is going on?"

"Separation anxiety?" Skye suggested. "We see it a lot in preschool."

"Clint's five, not three," James said. "I've never seen him like this around strangers."

"Maybe his dad can stay longer tomorrow?" Skye said. "It may take Clint a few days to get comfortable; this is different from school."

"But he's been over here lots," James said.

"Without his dad?"

"Well, no."

Skye nodded. "Give us a few more hours, we'll figure it out."

Things did not improve. James hung back and watched the children with Skye, but Clint kept up his silent staring routine. He went where Natasha went, did what Natasha did, but he was so busy watching Skye that he kept getting mixed up. Even Natasha noticed that something was wrong, but her attempts to engage Clint were met with a silent rebuff.

Finally, after the better part of an hour, James could take it no more. He motioned to Skye to join him, leaving the children to play with the cards. "Something's gotta give," he said. "I'm going to leave for a few minutes, go for a walk, then come back, maybe Clint will loosen up with me away. You okay with that?"

Skye pursed her lips, looking over at the children. "I guess it's worth a try."

"Good." James didn't bother with his prosthesis, just went to grab his jacket from the closet. "Hey, kids, I need to run over to the hardware store. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Natasha put down her playing cards. "What are you going to buy?" she demanded.

"I don't know, something for the garden." James slipped his wallet into his jeans, then his phone into his jacket pocket. "You guys stay here with Skye, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Okay." Natasha picked up her cards again. "But next time, I'm going to come with you."

"Deal." James looked at Clint, who appeared not to have noticed the conversation at all. A new idea occurred to James, that maybe something was wrong with Clint's hearing aid. He'd look into that when he got back. "Okay, be good for Skye."

And with that, James escaped outside.

It was a lovely day, warming up after all. It would be a good day for running around in the sprinkler in the afternoon. Maybe, after James returned, they could go to the playground, then come back for lunch and hang around until it was time to leave for the children's swimming lessons. That was a good plan.

It only took James five minutes to walk to the hardware store. As he stepped inside, breathed in the air of the dusty supplies, the faint hint of metal on the air, James felt the tension of his morning bleed away. He'd spent a good part of his childhood in hardware stores and on construction sites, and the familiarity of the place sank deep in James' bones.

Someone brushed past James on the way to the door. Shaking off his nostalgia, James headed for the gardening department.

He didn't want to be gone long, but with two children on his hands for the summer, he figured he should get equipment for the both of them to play in the backyard's garden boxes. There was a little hand-held trowel on sale, and a stout little watering can that Clint could carry easily. James dropped the trowel into the opening of the watering can, tossed on top of it two pairs of children's work gloves, and headed for the front.

There was a short line-up, and all told it took James another ten minutes before he was turning the corner onto his street. Shopping bag dangling from his hand, he hoped that things were working okay with the kids, that Clint had loosened up somewhat with Skye. He really wanted this summer to be a special one for the kids. Remembering back to his own childhood, James' best summers had been the ones where he'd been able to spend every waking moment with his best friend.

Lost in thought as his house came into view, James ran his eye over the house's exterior. He should see if he could hire someone to wash the third-story windows; they were getting a little dusty.

Still halfway down the block, James' attention was caught as a second-story window was shoved open. It was the bathroom window. Natasha never opened the window, and James himself only opened it to let out steam from the shower, so why was it opening now?

All these thoughts were swept out of James' head as Clint appeared in the window, head and shoulders poking out. James stopped, because what was Clint doing? He got his answer soon enough, as Clint vanished for a brief instant, before the boy reappeared as he climbed out of the window to stand on the shallow brick ledge outside the window.

A wave of fear and adrenaline pushed James to a sprint. There was no way Clint could stay on the ledge; he was going to fall off and land on the brick stairs and hurt himself, and Steve had left his son with James because James had promised he'd be safe.

In the space of time it took James to run half a block, Clint had shuffled along the ledge to the drainpipe and started climbing down the building, using the spaces between the worn bricks as toeholds for his bare feet. He had made it down to the level with the first floor windows when James jumped the gate, losing the shopping bag in the process. It was only a few more steps to the edge of the building to help Clint jump down. Once the boy was firmly back on solid ground, James grabbed Clint by the shoulder and had to stop himself from giving the boy a shake. "What are you doing?" James gasped. "Clint, you could have hurt yourself!"

Clint wrenched away from James, tears filling his eyes. "I'm going home!" he said loudly.

Wanting to scream, James knelt down and put his hand on Clint's shoulder again. "You can't go home, you're going to spend the summer with Natasha, remember we talked about this?"

"I know!" Clint wailed. "But I don't want a teacher!"

James slumped back on his heels. His heartbeat was slowing down in his chest, but even the memory of the little boy perched precariously on the brickwork was enough to make James feel sick. "You don't like Skye?"

"I don't want her to know I'm dumb!" Clint exclaimed, as two large tears rolled down his cheeks.

James, who had only seen Clint cry over missing his mother, gathered Clint up in a hug. The boy wrapped his arms around James' neck and held on, sniffling.

"Oh boy," James said, mainly to keep from swearing. "Come on, hold tight." He put his arm under Clint's bum and stood, lifting the boy with him. Clint was hanging on tight enough to choke James, but if it meant the boy wasn't running away, James would take what he could get.

James walked around to the steps and sat down, Clint on his lap. He waited until Clint had calmed down enough to loosen his grip on James' neck, then he reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.

"I'm going to let Skye know you're all right, then you and me are going to have a talk, okay?" James asked. Clint nodded. Quickly, James typed out a message to Skye. _clint climd out a windw i have hm out on steps thngs ok._

Moments after James hit send, he heard a _thunk_ as something came in contact with glass. He glanced around to see Skye pressed against the living room window, staring down at them in confusion. James gave her a thumbs-up as a sign everything was all right.

Natasha joined Skye, pressing her nose against the glass. "Hi Daddy!" she yelled, loud enough to be heard through the window.

James waved. After a minute, Skye drew Natasha away from the window and James could concentrate on Clint. The boy was playing with a button of James' jacket, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

With a sigh, James said, "Okay, you want to tell me what made you think Skye's going to think you're dumb? Because you're not dumb. You are a very intelligent little boy."

"No I'm not," came the whispered response.

"Why do you say that?"

Clint sniffled again. "Miss Spitz said I'm too dumb to go to first grade. She's a teacher, she knows."

James pulled on Clint's shoulder until the boy was sitting back. "What exactly did she say?" James demanded.

Clint wiped his nose on his shirt-sleeve. "She _said_ , if it was up to her I'd stay another year in kindergarten because I didn't learn _anything_ this year."

James was appalled. "She said this to you?"

"No, she was talking to Mrs. Anders on Friday at school," Clint said crossly. "But they never think I can hear anything, and so I pretend I can't hear them but I do!"

James took a steadying breath. God, was he happy that Clint wasn't ever going back to that school. "Clint, can I talk to you like a grown-up? Man to man?"

Clint sat up straight, his eyes bright. "Uh huh."

"Okay." James took a moment to gather his thoughts. "So, for starters, you're a very smart kid, I've always known that from the day I met you. Natasha knows it, your dad knows it, and I know it."

"Daddy has to say that," Clint said, gloom spreading over his face.

"Maybe, but I don't. And I guarantee you, Natasha never says stuff about people she doesn't think is true."

Clint rubbed his head. "But you don't know me all that long," he said. "Miss Spitz and Mrs. Anders taught me all year long. They think I'm a dummy."

"Stop calling yourself that," James ordered, his voice a little sharp. "Rule one of summertime in the Barnes' household. No talking down about yourself."

"Why?"

"Because we are a positive household." James heartily wished he'd read those posts about childhood self-esteem on the parenting blogs; it was never a problem he'd experienced with Natasha. "We don't say things that aren't true, and we don't say mean things about ourselves, or about anyone else. You wouldn't call Natasha a dummy, would you?"

"No," Clint said, astonished. "Natasha is smart. She's the smartest girl I ever meet."

"And she thinks you are the smartest boy she's ever met." James patted Clint on the back. "You're smart and intelligent, and most of all you are kind. Now I'm going to tell you something. I've been a lot of places. I've been to Afghanistan, and Iraq, and all over Europe, and I promise you that I'm telling the truth when I say that being kind is about the best thing a man can be."

Clint stared at James. "What about girls?"

"Being kind is the best thing a woman can be, too," James quickly added. "Being kind is very important for everyone. Because it means you are understanding, and have empathy."

"What's that?"

"Hmm." James contemplated checking the definition on the internet, but the last time he tried that with Clint around _disruptive,_ and he still remembered how that emotional disaster ended. He was just going to have to wing it. "Empathy means you can understand what someone's feeling. Like when Natasha is sad, you understand that she's sad."

James knew he was bungling the answer, but Clint was nodding slowly.

Going on, James said, "And you know that when someone gets called a dummy, that makes them feel sad. So you don't do that."

"No," Clint said quickly.

"And," James said, "Sometimes you can imagine what someone is going through. With me, you can understand that I can't pick some things up, even with my prosthesis."

"That's 'cause I have a metal ear!" Clint added, bounce coming back to his body. "And sometimes I can't hear, and when people think I can, or they think I can't hear anything, then I get mad."

"Because they might need a little empathy with what you're going through," James said. Clint nodded. "Good talk. Now, can we talk about why you tried to parkour out a second-story window?"

Clint sagged on James' knee. "Skye is pretty," he said after a moment. "And she talks real nice."

"You think so?"

Clint nodded. "I don't want her to find out I can't read. I don't want her to think I'm a dummy."

"Ah." Suddenly, everything from that morning was slotting into place. "Is that why you were watching Skye this morning?"

Clint squinted up at the sky. "I thought if I looked at her, I'd know what she wanted me to do," he said. "But I just felt sad."

"Let me tell you something about Skye," James said. "She was Natasha's preschool teacher, and she's been a teacher for a whole lot of kids. She's known kids who could read when they were really little and some who couldn't, and some who had trouble with colors and other stuff."

"I'm good at colors," Clint interjected.

"Yes you are. What else are you good at?"

Clint put his finger in his mouth and chewed on the knuckle for a few moments. "I'm good at archering," he said. "And at swimming."

"Yes. And you are also a very good friend. That's really important." He nudged at Clint until the boy stood up. "Now, we have to go inside and explain to Skye why you tried to run away. And later you and me are going to have a talk about how you can't run away."

"Okay." Clint waited while James retrieved the bag from the hardware store, then took hold of James' wrist as they walked together up the stairs.

Inside, Skye and Natasha were building a house of cards with the abandoned deck. At Clint's entrance, Natasha jumped up, knocking over the card house, and ran over to give him a hug. "How'd you get outside?" she demanded.

"We're going to talk about that," James said, urging the children along. "Everyone, sit down, we need to have a conversation."

Skye swept the cards off to the side and slipped onto the sofa. Natasha jumped up beside her. James sat on the edge of the coffee table and Clint leaned against his knee.

"Clint, do you have something to say to Skye?" James asked.

Clint scrubbed at his face with his hands. He took a deep breath, and burst out, "I climbed out a window because I like you!"

Skye put her hand over her mouth. James wasn't sure if she was exasperated or amused. He just hoped she didn't laugh. After a moment, Skye said, "No one's ever jumped out a window because they like me before."

"But I did it," Clint said, turning against James' shoulder.

James said, "Clint was worried this morning that you might not think he was very smart, because he doesn't know how to read quite yet."

"Oh." Skye held out her hands, and Clint ran over to her. "I would never think that. There are a lot of intelligent people who had a hard time learning to read. Everyone learns at their own pace. Even grown-ups."

Clint did not appear convinced. Skye helped him to sit on the sofa at her side, settling back so both children could look at her.

"Do you want to know a secret about learning stuff?" she asked. Both children nodded solemnly. "Most people can learn nearly anything, but the first thing they need is to be exposed to it."

"What's exposed?" Clint asked.

"It sounds bad," Natasha put in.

"It's not bad. It means you're around something. You can't learn to read if there's nothing to read, or you can't see the letters," Skye said. "Or, you can't learn to drive a car if you don't have a car to drive."

"I can't drive until I'm tall enough to reach the pedals," Natasha said.

"When you're sixteen," James said. His daughter ignored him.

"And then, you have to want to learn," Skye said. "That's the same thing for adults. Your dads use computers, but I bet neither off them can hack into the Bank of America, because they have different interests."

James' eyebrows went up at this, because what? But Skye was moving on.

"And the best thing that we can do this summer is to find out what things you want to learn about," she said. "Then I can help you do that."

Clint went up on his knees. "Do you think I can learn to read?" he asked breathlessly.

Skye smiled at Clint. "If you want to try, I will help you."

"I want to try!" Clint exclaimed, punching the air. "I'm gonna learn to read!"

"Me too!" Natasha said, bouncing up and down with excitement. "Daddy, I'm going to learn to read!"

"Excellent," James said. "Both of you, that's awesome. High fives."

Clint and Natasha jumped off the couch and ran over to James for their congratulatory high fives. Then Clint ran back over to Skye. "I can read my name already!" he said in excitement.

"That's a great start," Skye said, ruffling Clint's hair. "Do I get a high five too?"

Clint nearly toppled over with the force of his high five, and he started laughing. Natasha laughed too.

"All right," James said, standing up. "This is all very hungry work. What do you say we go in the kitchen and make a snack?"

"Cupcakes!" Natasha exclaimed. "Daddy, can we make cupcakes?"

"With chocolate chips!" Clint put in.

"Sure, why not," James said. "All right, everyone to the kitchen." The children ran off, screaming in excitement. James held out his hand to help Skye to her feet. "Thanks for being so understanding," he said. "I'll fix the window so he can't get out again."

"It's fine," Skye said, waving it off. "I'm glad you were there to catch him. Trust me, I know what it's like to want to escape."

"Same." A clatter of metal came from the kitchen. "Can you go help them? I'm going to get Clint's change of clothing."

Skye was already heading for the kitchen. When he was alone in the room, James sat back down and let out a groan. Less than two hours since Steve had left, and already Clint had tried to run away by jumping out a window. James just hoped that this did not bode ill for the rest of the summer.

After a minute, James heaved himself to his feet. He shuffled over to the hall table to dig out Clint's change of clothing. Maybe now that he was feeling more settled, the boy would want to switch into something he could play in.

Before heading into the kitchen, James hung his jacket on the rack. He fished out his phone, checked the screen, but there were no messages from Steve. Of course, Steve wouldn't expect his son to jump out of a window on the first day.

James' thumb hovered over the keypad. He could send Steve a message with the story, but what good would that do? Just worry Steve in a place he couldn't do anything about it. James slipped the phone into his pocket. He'd tell Steve what happened later, when the man came to collect them for swimming lessons. That would be better than a phone call or a text.

 _You keep telling yourself that,_ James thought as he headed into the kitchen, where the children and Skye were measuring chocolate chips into a bowl. Clint was just as excited as Natasha now, chattering with her and Skye, laughing and smiling. What a change half an hour could make.

James stood watching for a few minutes, then took a deep breath and said, "Who wants to change into play clothes?"

"I do!" Clint exclaimed, jumping down from the chair by the counter and running over. "This shirt is itchy!"

"I'm already in play clothes," Natasha reminded James. "These are my happy clothes. When I wear rainbow colors on the outside, I feel like rainbow colors on the _inside_."

"I have a bird on my shirt!" Clint said as he stripped down to his skivvies in the middle of the kitchen. "My bird shirt makes me happy!"

With the shirt on, Clint tried to run back over to the counter without bothering to put on his pants, but James caught him and made him pull on his shorts before he could rejoin the girls.

Then James went to get a cup of coffee and observe the organized chaos at the counter. Skye didn't seem to need his help with the children, deftly directing their attention to the right place as the baking lesson proceeded. So James sat, and watched the children, and finally allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, this summer would work out after all.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in relative calm. They got the cupcakes into the oven without making too much of a mess, then James sent the kids into the backyard with the new gardening tools. Both Clint and Natasha were thrilled to have their very own pair of work gloves, and they pottered around importantly until it was time to go back inside to have their snack.

Then it was time to go to the park, and Natasha pouted a little as Clint got to take his water bottle while she did not have one. Only after James promised to ask Steve where he'd bought it, so Natasha could have one of her very own, did the girl allow herself to be hustled out of the house and down the street.

After an hour on the playground, during which Skye was the one to keep up with the kids, pushing them on the swings while James had a protracted phone conversation with Maria about work, they all headed home and James broke out a treat he'd been saving: chicken nuggets for lunch.

Natasha was so excited she nearly fell off her chair.

After lunch, the children changed into their bathing suits and spent a few hours running through the sprinkler in the back yard. James and Skye sat supervising on the patio. Well, James supervised; Skye was doing research on age-appropriate learning materials to help Clint in his newly discovered quest to read.

All too soon, it seemed, the day was ending and Steve Rogers was knocking on the front door. James asked Skye to keep an eye on the kids while he talked to Steve, and went to face the lion in his den. All in all, Steve took the news of Clint's escape attempt better than James expected.

"A second-story window?" Steve shouted, his arms flailing wildly. "How did he not hurt himself?"

"Toeholds in the bricks," James said, slumped on the sofa, clutching a pillow to his chest. "Has he ever been on a climbing wall?"

"No, goddamnit!" Steve said, pacing in a circle. "What am I going to _do_ with him?"

"You're sure as hell not going to yell at him like this," James said, and that penetrated through Steve's frustration. The man's shoulders slumped, and he came over to collapse on the sofa beside James. "Talk to him, Steve. He responded to that after I caught him trying to make a break."

Steve dropped his head into his hands. "Jesus, Bucky, what the hell."

James took pity on Steve, patting the man on the back. "He's got a year's worth of crap to get over, give him time."

"Fuck."

A chorus of noise preceded the children into the living room, dripping on every available surface. Skye was in their wake, holding her phone out to display the time. "I have to go, I've got a class," she said apologetically.

"No problem." James staggered to his feet. "Nat, go upstairs and change into dry clothes, we have to go to swim class."

"Bye Skye!" Natasha screeched, running up the stairs.

Clint made a beeline for his father and tried to hug the man, but Steve held him off until he could slip out of his suit jacket. "Oh, Clint, we need to talk," Steve said.

Tactfully, James saw Skye out. They stood on the step talking about the week's schedule, including James' physio appointment the following morning, then Skye's early departure on Wednesday, and the fact that Friday was the Fourth of July and did James need Skye to come in on the holiday?

"Nah, we'll be good," James said. Something about the day pinged in his head. What was it? Oh right, that was Steve's birthday. "But can you guys make birthday presents for Steve this week?"

"Anything you say, boss." Skye headed off down the steps and turned in the direction of the subway station.

Squaring his shoulders, James went back inside.

Steve was cross-legged on the ground, talking quietly to a sad-faced Clint. On James' entrance, Steve patted Clint on the head and sent him over to get the sports bag. "You in trouble?" James asked Clint.

"Yeah," Clint said. " 'Cause I tried to run away, I can't have any juice for _two whole days_."

"Huh."

"And I gotta 'pologize to Skye and I can't never run away from anyone again."

"Clint, go change back into your clothes so we can go to swim lessons, please," Steve said from the floor. With a huff, Clint grabbed his towel and stalked off toward the kitchen. "Kids."

"Yeah. Hey, Friday's your birthday."

"So?" Steve asked as he climbed to his feet.

"So got any plans?"

"Nah. Clint's archery class is cancelled because of the holiday. I have to work, though."

"Wow, that's shitty."

Steve shrugged. "There's a big donor we're preparing a dossier for. It was either my staff works through the day, or I take one for the team."

"Such an altruist," James said.

"No, a realist. Tony gives his employees holidays off with pay. If I ask my people to work that day, it's double-time pay and a day off in lieu. It's not in the budget."

"So you let them have the day off and keep the holiday pay for yourself."

Steve punched James lightly in the right bicep. "Shut up, that's not it at all."

"Whatever. What are you doing for your birthday?"

"I figured me and Clint could get dinner after I pick him up." Steve paused for a moment. "Oh, shit. Is Skye coming over on Friday?"

"Nope. Guess I got the kids all to myself."

"Bucky, I—"

"—Are going to shut your yap and let me take care of the kids. Consider it a birthday present."

The expression of relief on Steve's face made James almost feel bad. "You're the best friend a guy could have."

A simultaneous rush of gratitude and guilt coursed through James' body. "You'd do the same for me," he said.

"I would."

Steve's smile was almost too much, like staring into the sun. James shook his head. "How about we have a party here when you're done?" he suggested. "Some burgers, some hot dogs. I'm pretty sure I have a grill somewhere, I can go pick up some charcoal."

"Bucky, you always have the best ideas," Steve said. "You think we can see the fireworks from the backyard?"

"No, but maybe from the roof."

"What's on the roof?" Clint asked, wandering back into the room.

"Fireworks on your daddy's birthday," James said.

"I like fireworks, they go boom!"

"Same here, peanut." James went over to the stairs. "Natasha, get moving! We're going to be late!"

He turned around and nearly tripped over Clint. The boy was staring up at him. "Did you give me a nickname?" he asked excitedly.

James reviewed what he'd said. "It looks like I did."

Clint beamed. "I have a nickname!" he exclaimed, and ran over to Steve, who picked him up and swung him around. "Daddy, I have a nickname!"

"That's pretty neat."

"Daddy, does James have a nickname for you?"

"I've got a few," James said under his breath as Natasha flounced down the stairs. For some reason, she was wearing her pink princess dress.

"I'm ready to go," she said, arms crossed defiantly.

James sighed. He was too tired for this argument. "Do you have your bathing suit?" was all he asked, and then they were all heading out the door for the jeep to go to swimming lessons.

All in all, it had been a day where everything turned out okay in the end.

* * *

Compared to the first day of the week, everything else was a wild success. James' physio appointment went well, the children (and Skye) none the worse for wear at his absence. Skye's early exit on Wednesday was smoothed over by James taking the children to the hardware store for an afternoon of browsing. Clint's favorite part was the paint samples, while Natasha poked at the sharp tools and kept asking, "What's that for?"

On Thursday, Skye had the kids working on crafts to give Steve for his birthday, which let James go do a bit of grocery shopping to prepare for the cook-out on Friday. He welcomed the break, as he had been trying for days to think about what to give Steve for his birthday.

They weren't children anymore, so comic books were out. They were just so different now; James didn't know what Steve was into, besides being a dad. James supposed he could get something for Clint, but no that would be weird, and besides Clint's birthday was in a month's time.

As he neared the produce section, James was getting a little desperate. Maybe he could just give Steve a coffee gift card and be done with it, James was thinking in disgust as he selected potatoes, when all of a sudden inspiration struck.

Baseball. Steve had liked baseball as a kid. Maybe that was what James could get him, a day out at a ball game. For the giddiest of moments, James thought that maybe he could take Steve out to the game, not a date but just them, hanging out. Then reality rushed back in with a bump. If James and Steve went to a ball game, that left no one to watch the children, and taking two five-year-olds to a baseball game would turn into a babysitting experience.

So that was what James would do, he thought, feeling as though he'd lost something. He would get Steve tickets to a baseball game, two tickets so Steve could take someone he liked, and James would stay home with the children. It wasn't a _hardship_ ; James enjoyed having the two kids around. But for a brief instant, James had fantasized what it would be like to enjoy a baseball game with Steve, four uninterrupted hours of close physical proximity to Steve Rogers.

But it wasn't to be. James might be in love with his best friend, but Steve would never know. Steve was straight, and totally out of James' league.

* * *

Friday started off well. Steve dropped Clint off early, so James got the kids their breakfast and then everyone got dressed and headed off to the park. After that, the trio headed over to a small street fair by Natasha's dance studio. James had taken the precaution of pinning slips of paper with the children's emergency contacts inside their pockets in case they had any run-away incidents, but both Clint and Natasha were very well behaved as they walked the streets, holding on to James' hands. Natasha clung to James' right hand, while Clint was happy to hold James' metal hand, even if he tugged too hard occasionally.

James had promised the children that they could each buy one special treat. Clint early on picked a shiny pinwheel that spun as he walked. Natasha took more time in her perusal of the stalls, but ended up picking a long fluttery ribbon on a stick, similar to a gymnast's ribbon. James cautioned them both to make sure they didn't hit anyone with their toys, and off they went.

It was a lovely day, and the only thing wrong was that Steve wasn't with them to enjoy it. James took lots of pictures for Steve, and when they all finally made it home, everyone was tired and cranky.

James made the unpopular decision for an hour of naptime. The children argued every step of the way, but soon after James had them down (Natasha in her room, Clint in the spare room across the hall) the children were fast asleep. James could have used a nap of his own, but instead he went to the kitchen to get ready for the evening meal.

The children were up and helping James make the salad when Steve arrived. He got a round of _happy birthday!_ and _open my present!_ from the children, and it was a precarious few minutes before he could actually make it into the kitchen.

"We'll open presents after dinner," James told the children. "Can you set the table, please?"

As the children ran around underfoot, Steve removed his suit jacket and tie before moving over to the sink to wash his hands. "Can I help?" Steve asked, sneaking a slice of carrot out of the salad bowl.

"Sure, you're on condiments," James said, his attention divided between the pots on the stove. "The charcoal's already lit. I wasn't sure if you wanted to eat outside, it might be a bit chilly."

"In here's good," Steve said with a smile. "Thanks for doing this, Bucky, it's been a long time since anyone threw me a birthday party."

"What about your adoptive family?" James asked.

"Sally and Kimberly both live on the west coast now," Steve said as he went to gather bottles from the fridge. "Ever since he retired, Abraham spends June and part of July with them. Of course," Steve said with a smile, "These days he's sure to be back by early August."

"Clint's birthday?"

"Of course. Nothing could keep Grandpa Abraham away from one of his grandchildren on their birthdays."

Clint, who was holding two forks like drumsticks as he walked to the table, said, "Grandpa Abraham is my favorite grandpa."

"Then he's mine too," Natasha put in, carrying a stack of paper napkins as she followed Clint.

James raised his eyebrow at Steve. "What about Sharon's parents?"

Steve made a face as if he'd smelled sour milk. "When Sharon told them that she was going overseas to work and that she was signing over full custody to me, they flipped out," he said in an undertone. "Said how could a young punk like me raise their grandson, all that kind of crap."

"That sucks," James said.

Steve smiled then, sharp and not entirely pleasant. "You know what, though? They know where I live, have my phone number, and they haven't even tried to see Clint once in the last four years." He slammed the fridge door shut. "That's fine. We don't need them. Everyone who cares about us, they make time for us."

James stood watching as Steve carried an armful of bottles to the table. Clint and Natasha both 'helped' Steve set the bottles in the right order. "Daddy, are we gonna see Grandpa Abraham for Hanukkah this year?" Clint asked.

"You bet we are," Steve said. "Same as every year, we're going to his house for the first night and we're going to see your aunts and uncles and cousins."

"Yes!" Clint put his hands in the air. "I like grandpa's house, it's big and there are huge trees and when I'm big enough I can climb them! Am I big enough?"

"Not yet," Steve said, ruffling Clint's hair. "Maybe when you're ten."

"That's too long," Clint complained, smoothing his hair back in place. "I do it when I'm seven."

"We don't have Hanukkah, we have Christmas," Natasha informed Steve and Clint. "We get a little tree, and we make decorations, and I can't light a fire in the chimney on Christmas morning because maybe Santa's stuck and he gets all burnt up."

Wondering where the hell Natasha had gotten that last tidbit, James said, "You can't light the fire because the chimney's bricked up to keep the drafts out."

"Then how can Santa get down?" Natasha demanded hotly.

"He's magic," James said. "He can get through the cracks in the bricks. Who's going to help me with the potato salad?"

Eventually, the table was set and everyone crowded around the charcoal grill outside for the ceremonial laying-on of the hamburgers. After a few minutes of watching things sizzle, the kids went to check on their garden boxes while Steve and James were left standing by the grill.

"So," Steve said, hands in his pocket. "Clint's been having a great time this week."

"He's a good kid," James said, testing the edge of a burger with the metal spatula. "Those two, they keep each other occupied. I'll tell you, I've never seen Natasha so happy. Even last summer with Skye, she wasn't this into things. Having a friend is really helping."

"Yeah." Steve rocked back and forth on his heels. "I mean, other than Monday—"

"Monday doesn't count."

"—Clint has never gotten up in the morning so easily," Steve went on. "He's always so excited to come over here." Now Steve was watching the children; Clint was talking to the carrot tops while Natasha carefully turned over trowels of dirt between the beets. "It's just…"

James waited.

"This is going to sound stupid, but he's blossoming," Steve said, the faintest tremble in his voice. "With Natasha, and with you and with Skye… I didn't realize how much that school was no good for him until this week."

"You know that I'd do anything for Clint," James said as he rolled the hot dogs.

"Yeah, I know."

James kept his eyes on the burgers, giving Steve a semblance of privacy. James was aware that a lot of his coping mechanisms around emotion came from being in hyper-masculine environments, sports in high school and then the Army, but even knowing that and having a little girl who talked about her emotions at the drop of a hat, he couldn't look at Steve.

A voice in his head kept saying that real men didn't cry because their kids were doing well, real men didn't have _feelings_ , and it took him a few moments to realize that it was his father's voice he was imagining.

Breathing over the sharp flutter of his heart in his throat, James took a step back from the grill. "Here," he said roughly, handing the spatula to Steve. "You do this, I gotta check on the cake."

The cake was perfectly fine and waiting in the refrigerator, but it gave James a momentary respite to go inside, close the door, and lean against the counter waiting for his heart to stop racing.

He wasn't his father. There was nothing _wrong_ with Steve being emotional about his kid making progress, about good things happening, and no one was going to come in and hurt Steve because of it, James didn't have to worry about that. He didn't have anything to worry about, only the echoes of long-ingrained lessons.

James pressed his hand against the counter, the straps of his prosthetic arm digging into his ribs. He'd worn it while they were out to keep better hold of the children's hands, but now they were home, and James' wasn't the only adult hand around. Steve was there. Steve could handle things if James needed help.

Pushing off the counter, James pulled his shirt over his head and quickly undid the straps holding his metal arm to his body. The strap on his ribs had rubbed raw with all the activity of the day, first trying to hold onto Clint at the street fair and then later in the kitchen. James carefully put the arm on top of the fridge, out of the way of curious little hands, when the back door opened and Steve came in. He pulled up short at the sight of James with his shirt off. "Oh."

James made a face. Steve must have seen the raw spot on his side. "It'll be fine," James said, pulling his shirt over his head. "Give it a few days and I'll be fine. All that heavy lifting."

Steve ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I think the burgers might be done. How pink do you want yours?"

James restrained himself. "Whatever. Wait, did you leave the kids out there with the grill?"

"I told them not to touch it," Steve said as James brushed past him out the door. On the patio, Clint and Natasha were both holding the handle of the spatula and watching the sputtering grill from a safe distance.

"Daddy, we're supervising," Natasha informed him.

"Good." He ran his hand over Natasha's hair. "How about you two pumpkins go and wash your hands and we can eat?"

He grabbed the spatula from the children as they rushed into the house, nearly trampling Steve. Twirling the spatula in his fingers, James raised his eyebrow at Steve. "Hey, want to make yourself useful and lend me a hand?"

The exasperated expression on Steve's face was worth the pun.

* * *

Dinner was good, if a bit loud. The children were almost too excited to eat, but the four of them managed to pack away most of the salads, burgers, hotdogs and corn. As they ate, the kids told Steve all about their day at the street fair and showed him their new toys. The man was suitably impressed.

Then James made the kids help him clear the table before he would bring out the cake. "And you go get your presents for Steve," James said as Clint tried to grab at the birthday candles. "Remember all that hard work you did?"

Once the children stampeded out of the room, James gave Steve a rueful smile. "I didn't think this whole one-armed cake carrying thing through."

"I'll do anything for cake, including carry it myself," Steve said. He picked up the sheet cake James had bought from a bakery down the street and carried it to the table. "This looks patriotic."

The cake was decorated in icing bursts of fireworks and a large American flag. "What can I say, they had a special."

The children rushed back into the room. "Open mine first!" Clint shouted, shoving a box at Steve.

"No, open _mine_ first!"

"Gifts on the table!" James ordered. "We'll cut the cake first. Now sit!" The children sat, giggling the whole time. James fished a lighter out of the junk drawer and headed over to the table. After lighting the candles, he sat down in the chair next to Natasha and said, "Can we sing Steve the happy birthday song like we practiced?"

The children launched into an enthusiastic rendition of _Happy Birthday,_ James singing along to keep them on the melody. In the light from the candles, Steve's smile was warm and happy, and James' heart melted at the sight.

"Now blow!" Clint commanded as the song ended.

"Okay." Steve leaned forward and blew out the candles in one breath. The children clapped at this feat. "Now what?"

"Present time," James said as he reached for the cake with a knife.

The children surged forward, pushing their hand-wrapped gifts at Steve. "Come here," Steve instructed, pulling Natasha and Clint onto his knees and putting his arms around them. "Now, what do we have?"

Skye's idea of a birthday craft had consisted of a paperweight (a hand-painted rock with large goggly eyes glued on; Clint's was a peacock, Natasha's a tiger) and a hand-drawn birthday card. Clint ripped open the envelope for Steve and handed his father the card. "Look, Daddy, I wrote it all _myself!_ " the boy said excitedly. "Skye showed me but I wrote the words, 'Happy Birthday Daddy, from Clint'!"

Steve looked at the card, with its rickety large letters spelled out in purple glitter marker, and gathered Clint into a hug. "That's the best birthday gift ever," he said against Clint's hair. "Thanks, Clint."

On Steve's other knee, Natasha looked at Steve and Clint with the beginnings of a pout on her lips. "I made you a card too," she said.

"You did?" Steve said, sitting up. "Show it to me."

Natasha ripped open the envelope and pulled her card free. "This is for you," she said. "I drawed you and Daddy and me and Clint and we are all at _Disneyland_."

From his side of the table, James could see the artwork clear as day. Steve smiled at Natasha as he opened the card. " 'Happy Birthday Steve Rogers'," he read. " 'From Natasha Barnes'. Thanks, Nat, this is a lovely card."

"You're sure lucky to have two birthday cards," James said. He reached into his back pocket and handed a folded piece of paper to Steve. "Sorry it's so crappy."

"It's fine," Steve said before he opened the paper. "Baseball tickets?" he blurted out.

"Yeah," James said, feeling his ears going red. "I thought, you know, you liked baseball. I thought you could take someone special. I'll watch the kids."

Steve looked at the paper in wonder. "Bucky, this is just a great idea, I haven't gone to a game in years." He looked up at James, smiling. "But hey, we should go, together. It'd be great."

James' heart dropped into his stomach. He knew that Steve didn't mean it like _that_ , but all the same some part of him wanted it to be real, wanted Steve to take him to the game because he wanted to spend time with James. But that wasn't what Steve meant. Forcing himself to smile, James said, "Yeah, sure, that would be great."

On Steve's knee, Clint reached for the paper. "What's baseball?" he asked, squinting at the page.

"You know baseball," Steve reminded him. "The kids down the street play it all the time."

"Can I come too?" Clint asked.

That wasn't what James had planned, not at all, but at least that way James wouldn't have to worry about a babysitter. "We can take the kids, make a day of it," he said, pushing down the disappointment in his chest at not getting to spend the day alone with Steve.

Maybe it was James' imagination, but Steve's smile slipped a little. "Yeah, good idea," the man said. "Family outing."

Natasha slipped off Steve's knee and went back to her chair. "I'm not going," she said. "Baseball is _boring_."

James opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it. He'd deal with Natasha's problems with organized sports at a later time. "Who wants cake?" he said instead, and was rewarded with cheers from the children and a happy grin from Steve.

Sometimes, James reminded himself, he had to quit while he was ahead.

* * *

After cake, after dishes, James and Steve talked the children into changing into their pajamas to watch a movie. That carried them through until dark, when James led the way up to the roof, through the dusty third floor to the bolted door. The keys turned the two double-sided deadbolt locks, and the door hinges creaked as the door opened.

Natasha clutched at Clint's arm. "Are there ghosts on the roof?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nope, just some lawn chairs." When Natasha didn't move, James went over and picked her up. "Come on, let's go."

Clint took Steve's hand to climb the stairs, and the four of them emerged onto the flat brownstone roof in one piece, even if Natasha tried to strangle James with the strength of her grip.

In the distance, the warning flares were going up. Steve and James made their way over to the lawn chairs James had put up the previous afternoon and set up the children in their own little lawn chairs. James then pulled out the bag of sparklers he'd picked up at the hardware store, and lit them for Clint and Natasha to wave around as the night darkened.

Once the fireworks started on the river, the children climbed into their respective fathers' laps. New York put on quite a show of fireworks, with each volley over the river reaching higher and higher. The children cheered on the first few shots, and then Clint promptly fell asleep against Steve's chest.

"You okay with all this?" Steve asked quietly, as Natasha's interest waned with Clint unconscious. "The explosions and all."

"I'm fine," James said. "Things blowing up miles away is fine. Just no firecrackers in the backyard, okay?"

"Deal."

They watched the fireworks go on. Natasha gave a huge yawn as she curled up against James' chest. "Daddy, I'm sleepy," she mumbled, trying to keep her eyes open.

"That's okay," James told her quietly. "I'll carry you to bed."

"Happy birthday, Daddy," Natasha slurred.

James kissed her hair. "Not my birthday, sweet pea," he whispered as he shifted Natasha up his chest, to rest her head on his shoulder. The girl wiggled sleepily, whispered something, and gradually went limp.

"What did she say?" Steve asked during a lull in the fireworks.

"I'm pretty sure she said 'farts'."

Steve let out an involuntary snort.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"Whatever, jerk." James put his hand on Natasha's back so she wouldn't slide. "They're five."

"Like we were any better at twelve."

Steve went back to watching the fireworks, the colors from the blasts reflecting off his face. In profile like this, Steve was perfect, a piece of art in the dark of the evening.

After a minute, Steve looked over at James, and James realized that he had been staring. "Thanks, Bucky," Steve said quietly. "This… well, it's one of the best birthdays I've had in a very long time."

"Good," James said, all of the hard work from the day suddenly fading from his mind. "I mean… yeah, because it's the first time in a while with you and me, you know?"

His heart pounding in his chest, James waited for Steve to deflect, something, but the man just nodded. "Yeah, Bucky. I know."

And with that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence, their children fast asleep as the fireworks flew high over the city, celebrating the Fourth of July.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi the baseball scene and how it got its start (and how it ends: <http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/102566430682/sotto-accorgersi-replied-to-your-post-writing-the>)


	12. Générique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Générique by Miles Davis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MvCnQIAQNM). 
> 
> Among other things, this chapter contains descriptions of past sexual assault of a teenager and the fall-out from there.

* * *

A soft shuffling sound in the hallway drew James' attention away from his computer. "Hi Clint," he said, pushing his chair back from the desk. "You okay?"

"Uh huh." Clint leaned against the doorframe, his mouth turned down into a pout.

James glanced at the clock. He had to get the proposal draft to Maria before two, or else she'd have his head. But he didn't want to send Clint back upstairs without figuring out what was going on. "Do you want to come in for a visit?"

Clint nodded as he walked into the office. It was a hot day in Brooklyn and even in the house it was warm; at some point in the day Clint had shucked off his socks and rolled his t-shirt sleeves up so his arms were bare.

"You can stay as long as you want, but you have to be quiet until I finish what I'm working on, okay?" James said. "I'll be done soon."

Clint nodded again, pressing a finger against his lips, then took a running jump to land on the worn leather sofa against the wall. James went back to the proposal he was working on, but first sent a quick email to Skye to let her know that Clint was with him.

It had happened a few times in the two and a half weeks since Clint and Natasha started their summer days with Skye in James' big house, that Clint needed a bit of quiet time away from the girls (usually when Natasha was being overly excitable), and usually the boy sought James out. Eventually, Clint would get bored with James' old man ways and climb back up the two flights of stairs to where Skye and Natasha were engaged in the activity of the day on the third floor.

Today, however, something was different. Instead of his usual pattern of poking at various items lying around the room, Clint just lay on the leather sofa and sulked.

Well, sulked as much as an energetic five-year-old could; in the fifteen minutes it took James to finish the final paragraph in the document, Clint had changed position twenty times, letting out loud sighs every couple of minutes. By the time James was ready to send the saved file to the secure server, Clint was lying face down, legs sticking up over the arm of the sofa, his arms flung wide.

As soon as the file upload was complete, James sent Maria a quick text, _file up ur turn k_. Then he put the computer into sleep mode and turned his chair around. "What's up?"

Immediately, Clint blew a raspberry against the leather of the sofa cushion. "Reading's dumb," the boy said darkly, rolling onto his side. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on the sofa.

James sighed, too resigned to the general destruction of his personal property by tiny children to be upset about the snot stain on the leather. "Come here," he said, and Clint slid off the sofa to meander over to James' side. "First thing, blow your nose," and Clint took the offered tissue to blow his nose with a loud honk. "Where are your glasses?"

"With Skye," Clint said, stuffing the used tissue into James' outstretched hand. "She _said_ I could take them off if I wanted but only if I gave them to her to keep safe." He eyed James to see what the man might make of this.

"That's a good idea," James said. "Were they making your head hurt?"

Clint shook his head. "When I wear them, she tries to make me _read_ ," he said. "And sometimes I don't wanna."

"Makes sense." James heaved himself to his feet. "How about we go get Skye and Natasha and go to the park before Skye has to leave?"

"Okay." Clint took hold of James' metal hand and together they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

* * *

It was Wednesday, Skye's day to leave early for her class, so Skye packed up her things and walked with James, Natasha and Clint to the playground before giving the children hugs and heading off to the subway.

Then Clint and Natasha ran off to play dinosaurs, leaving James to slump on a nearby bench. It was a sunny day and James was vaguely thinking that he should have put some sunscreen on the children before they left the house, when his phone pinged with a new text. It was Maria, and James was soon engrossed in a good deal of back-and forth concerning their latest work project.

In the middle of the discussion, Steve sent a text that read, _At the house where are you?_ James shot back _the park w swings_ before returning to wrap up his discussion with Maria.

Ten minutes later, the subdued roar of a motorcycle engine alerted James to Steve's arrival. Clint and Natasha jumped down from the rock where they had been roaring their dinosaur mastery of the entire playground, and ran up to Steve as the man was removing his helmet, James on their heels. In his leather jacket and worn jeans, his hair tousled from the helmet, Steve looked like a model or a movie star; perfect.

"Daddy!" Clint squealed, flinging himself at the man as soon as he was standing on the sidewalk. "I learned to read a new word today!"

"You did?" Steve asked, catching Clint and tossing him into the air. Clint screamed with delight. "What's the word?"

"Paper," Clint said proudly. "It has two pees." He held up his index and middle fingers in a peace sign. " _Two_."

"That's great," Steve said, smiling widely. "Good for you."

Clint beamed.

"Hey!" Natasha said, tugging on Steve's jeans. Steve looked down. "Why'd you always fly Clint but you never fly me?"

Steve set Clint down and knelt to talk to Natasha. "Do you want me to throw you up in the air?" he asked.

The girl nodded, holding out her arms.

With a quick glance at James, Steve picked Natasha up. "Are you ready?"

So high in the air, Natasha's courage momentarily deserted her. She clutched at Steve's shirt collar. "I don't know," she whispered.

"I promise I'll catch you, okay?" Steve said.

Natasha loosened her hold on Steve's collar. "Okay." She set her jaw in determination. "You can do it."

With great care, Steve tossed Natasha approximately six inches into the air before catching her in a scoop hold. She squealed and grabbed at him, a shaky smile on her face as Steve set her on the ground.

"That was scary!" Natasha exclaimed, disentangling herself from Steve's grasp and running over to Clint. "Come on, we gotta go play more dinosaurs!" Clint took Natasha's hand and together they ran back over to the large rock.

"She doesn't like heights?" Steve asked, looking after the children.

"She's got a crippled old man who thought it a good idea to avoid throwing his kid into the wind," James corrected. "Why are you off work so early?"

Steve clapped James on the shoulder. "I had an idea."

James didn't move. "What kind of idea?" he demanded.

"A fun one." Steve smiled at James, amusement dancing in his eyes. "When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"That stunt in third grade that nearly got us suspended," James said immediately, but he let himself be pushed in the direction of the bench. "Or that time at summer camp when we were ten?"

"Shut up, this is nothing like that," Steve said, plopping down on the bench at James' side. "What do you say we take the kids to Coney Island?"

This was so out of the blue that James stared at Steve. "When?"

"Today, right now." Steve flung his arm over the back of the bench. James was painfully aware of the man's hand, barely an inch from James' shoulder. "It shouldn't be too busy."

"That's because it's three o'clock on a Wednesday," James said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Steve let his gaze wander toward the children. "I had a good day at work, okay? Clint's been bugging me to take him on the roller coaster for ages, and I thought maybe we could go together."

As ideas went, it wasn't one of Steve's best; James could think of a dozen reasons not to take the kids to Coney Island at this time of day – what would they do for dinner, the kids had already had a long day without a nap, let alone the cost of parking. But the wistful expression on Steve's face stilled James' tongue, and he found himself saying, "All right, but you're on sunscreen duty."

The slow, warm smile on Steve's face was almost enough to make James forget his misgivings. Almost.

* * *

Upon their return to the house, Steve broke the good news. Clint screamed so loudly that James wondered if the neighbors would call the cops, but Natasha just stared up at Steve, puzzled. "What's that place?" she asked.

"They have a roller coaster!" Clint exclaimed, literally jumping up and down. "Can I go on the roller coaster, Daddy?"

"Coney Island is an amusement park," James said, kneeling down to straighten the strap of Natasha's sundress. The skin on her shoulders was still pale, they hadn't been out in the sun for too long, but James wasn't going to run the risk of his daughter getting a sunburn. "You can ride rides, or you can stay with me and hold my hand."

"Is it big?" Natasha asked, her eyes wide.

"No bigger than any other place we go." James smoothed down her hair. "I'll be with you the whole time. Now I need you to run upstairs and change into a t-shirt and shorts, clothes you can run around in. And make sure we have your inhaler."

"Okay." Natasha headed up the stairs, moving quickly. Steve had managed to reduce Clint's energy level to a low bounce and was applying sunscreen to his son's face and neck.

"Which roller coaster are you going to ride?" James asked.

"All of them!" Clint said. "I never been, but I wanna ride the _fastest_ one."

James sighed. "All right, you corral the troops, I'm going to get supplies," he told Steve. "Meet back in five."

"What supplies?" Steve called after James as the man moved into his office.

"Road trip necessaries," James replied. He reached into the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk, pulling out the thin sheaf of papers he carried with him whenever he and Natasha were going into a situation. If Natasha was separated from him in the crowds (not impossible, given Clint's propensity to run away), or there was some sort of medical emergency, James had her health records and the legal documentation to prove his guardianship. He was less likely to need it these days, with Natasha being of an age where she was vocal and aware, but James still carried the documents with him.

The packet had been Nick Fury's suggestion, when James had mentioned to the man that he was planning on taking two-year-old Natasha on a ferry ride to Staten Island. James had never needed to use the papers, but he'd be damned if he'd leave anything behind.

While Steve was getting the children into their running shoes and exhorting them to tie their own laces, James ducked into the kitchen, pulled a knapsack from the hooks by the backdoor, then dropped in three bottles of water from the fridge, two protein bars, one bag of dried mango slices, a handful of baby wax cheeses, a travel-sized packet of Kleenex and a couple of elastic bands.

"Daddy!" Natasha screeched from the living room. "We gotta go roll the coaster!"

"Coming, sweet pea!" James made a quick adjustment of his metal arm, settling the prosthesis on his left arm stump, and picked up his knapsack. "Do you have your inhaler?"

Natasha brandished her asthma inhaler. James added that to his bag. Clint tried to take off his glasses and stuff them in the bag too, but Steve stopped him.

"All right," James said solemnly. "Before we go, I want to take a picture. Everyone up next to Steve." The children mashed themselves against Steve, and the man put his arms around the kids. James tried to ignore the look Steve was giving him. "Everyone, say _pizza_!"

"Pizza!" yelled the kids, and James snapped the picture on his phone.

"Okay, into the car."

The kids ran towards the door as James quickly emailed the picture to himself. "What was that about?" Steve asked, taking the knapsack out of James' hand so the man could set the house alarm.

"In case one of them runs off," James said quietly. "It's just a precaution."

"Why do you always plan for the worst-case scenario?"

"I own a security consulting firm, Steve, that's how I make ends meet." The alarm pinging in warning, James shouldered Steve out of the house, pulled the outer door closed behind him and locked the deadbolt. "Besides, after you get your arm blown off, the worst-case scenario don't seem so unlikely, does it?"

"You never used to be like this as a kid," Steve said, following James down the steps.

"And you never used to ride a motorcycle, but we all grow up." James slung his knapsack into the front seat through the jeep's open window, then went to make sure Clint and Natasha were buckled in. "Ready to go?"

While Natasha cheered, Clint nodded so hard his glasses fell off.

* * *

The drive was a pleasant one. James skipped going through the city, instead taking the shore parkway and listening to Steve point out the sights to the children.

If it had been just James, he'd have kept driving and parked in a free spot he knew, a twenty-minute walk from the waterfront, but with the added complication of herding two small children and Steve, James just gave all that up and drove into the parking lot.

The cost of parking made James wince, but he paid up and rejoined Steve and the kids on the sidewalk. Clint was jumping up and down, but Natasha was looking around her with eyes wide at the new sights.

The place wasn't too crowded for a weekday. Steve held the children's hands while James walked at their side, keeping an eye on the crowds.

"Do we want to go on some rides first?" Steve asked.

"I wanna go on a roller coaster!" Clint shouted.

"I want to ride the horsies," Natasha countered.

"We're closer to the carousel," James said, jumping in before any strife arose between friends. "Let's do that first."

Clint looked at James suspiciously. "Can we go on more than one ride?"

"Of course," James said in all seriousness. "Your dad's paying for the rides, so I say we go on _all_ the rides."

"Hey," Steve protested, while the children dissolved into giggles. "Why am I paying for ride tickets?"

"Because I'm paying for dinner," James said, adjusting the knapsack strap over his prosthesis's shoulder. "Come on, kids, let's find that carousel!"

* * *

After the carousel, the fun continued. Steve marched everyone over to the children's rides and while at first Clint seemed hesitant, soon he was running from ride to ride with as much enthusiasm as Natasha. Steve and James watched from the sidelines, waving at the kids as they zipped past, as Steve talked about his day and the scholarship deal he'd helped the Stark Foundation set up with the New York Academy of Art. Steve was so happy, and the children so excited, that James should have known that everything would soon fall apart around him.

After the kids came off the balloon ride, James sat everyone down and handed out water and snacks for the kids while sunscreen was reapplied. Clint chewed on dried mango while Natasha made Steve peel a wax cheese for her. James concentrated on keeping the sunscreen away from the metal of his prosthetic hand as he rubbed sunscreen on the back of Natasha's neck.

During the snack, there was a serious discussion around the roller coaster. Clint desperately wanted to go on the big coaster, but, as Steve pointed out three times, he wasn't tall enough. There was another coaster Clint and Natasha would both go on if they had someone with them, wasn't that fun?

Clint, after the emotional excitement of the past few hours, couldn't handle this disappointment and burst into tears. Natasha shoved the last of her cheese into her mouth and went over to put her arms around Clint. "You okay," she said, patting him on the back with cheesy fingers. "When you are big, you can ride the roller coaster _all day_."

"But I want to be big now!" Clint wailed. With a sigh, Steve scooped both children up and onto his lap, patting Clint's shoulder as the boy sniffled his way back to equilibrium.

"I want to be big all the time," Natasha told Clint. "Daddy said one day I will be big enough to reach the microwave, and to drive a car, and to wear grown-up clothes!"

Clint snuffled snottily, and James dove into the backpack to retrieve the Kleenex. "My Daddy says, when I'm big enough, I can ride on the back of his motorcycle."

"Wow," Natasha breathed. She looked at James. "Daddy, can I ride on Steve's motorcycle when I'm big?"

"Yes," James said carelessly, knowing that he had a few years before he'd have to deal with this. "How about a bathroom break, then you guys ride the roller coaster?"

For all his frustrated longing for the Cyclone, Clint regained his enthusiasm as they approached the children's roller coaster. James stayed at edge of the fence to watch, wondering a little how he'd ever found rides like these exciting when he was younger. He'd graduated from Jump School when he was twenty, and even twelve years later he woke sometimes with the memories of his nighttime test jump, the roar of the plane fading as he plummeted to earth in the blackness of midnight, in the tense freefall before his parachute opened. That had been a thrill; knowing that only skill and training (and an expertly-packed parachute) would keep him alive.

"Daddy!" came a yell. James looked over to see Natasha tucked into the seat next to Steve, her red hair sticking in every direction. James waved as the ride started to move; in the seat behind Natasha and Steve sat Clint beside another child. James waved at Clint and Clint waved back, and they were off.

Everything went smoothly, and soon the ride was over and Natasha and Clint were back on the ground, both grinning from ear to ear. "Daddy, that was the best!" Natasha exclaimed, holding his right hand and jumping up and down. "Can we come back here _every day_?"

"Nope," James said, squeezing Natasha's hand. "But we can come back here again in a few weeks. Maybe earlier in the day."

"No, we have to come with Steve," Natasha countered. "He makes it fun."

"He sure does," James said, looking at Steve. The man was smiling almost as widely as Clint, his blond hair windswept, his blue eyes the color of the cloudless sky overhead.

Without warning, something crossed James' line of sight that pulled him back with a sickening jerk, a face he hadn't seen in seventeen years and yet still woke him screaming in the dark.

It was _him_.

Heart pounding, adrenaline screaming _danger_ in his veins, James gripped Natasha's hand tight. "We have to go," he said, barely able get the words out past fear's stranglehold around his throat. "Now."

"But Daddy!" Natasha protested. "I wanted to play the frog game!"

"We have to go," James said again. It was hard to breathe, and his every instinct screamed at him to pick Natasha up and run. But _he_ hadn't seen James, hadn't seen Natasha, and if James could just get away, get home and lock the door, then everything would be all right. "Come on, Nat. Situation Elephant."

At the codeword, Natasha stopped her struggle and moved against James' side, letting him guide her along without a fuss, just like he'd taught her, just like they'd practiced.

"Bucky?" Steve said in confusion, hurrying after Steve with Clint at his side. "What happened?"

Natasha reached out with her free hand and took Clint's hand tight in hers. "We have to go," she said seriously, pulling Clint along with her. "It's a 'mergency."

"Bucky?"

"I have to go home," James said, clipped. He had to get away before he was spotted, had to get away from all these people, these strangers. The tiny logical piece of his mind left to him knew that he was in no danger, that this was Brooklyn and there were no IEDs, no snipers around, no one coming to take Natasha away or hurt him again, but James had been living with this particular nightmare ever since he'd had his arm blown off in Iraq, the explosion and older traumas mixing together into one loud, screaming attack.

He had to get Natasha and Clint out of here. He had to get them somewhere safe.

"Okay, we'll go," Steve said. James didn't look at the man's face, just kept moving through the crowd.

James was walking too fast for Natasha's little legs to keep up. After a few more steps, Steve picked Natasha up, putting her on his hip, then firmly grasped Clint's hand and moved along at James' side. All the while, James scanned the crowd, looking for snipers he knew weren't there, looking for people moving suspicious bundles that could not be bombs, all the while dreading that _he_ might have seen and recognized James, might be following them.

But James had changed in seventeen years. He was no longer the chubby-cheeked sophomore he'd been at fifteen years old. It was possible that he hadn't been recognized.

It didn't matter. James had to get out of there.

Down the boardwalk, toward the parking lot, over to the jeep. James dug into his pocket for the keys and managed to press the button to unlock the doors, but as he tried to put the keys into the ignition his hand was shaking so hard that he dropped them on the mat.

"Bucky," someone said, and there was a hand on his left shoulder and James barely caught himself before he lashed out. Steve, it was Steve who was holding onto him, the _idiot_. "Why don't you let me drive?"

James pushed on Steve until the man backed up. The kids were standing by the jeep, holding hands and looking up at James with scared expressions and James had to get them out of there. He had to get them safe.

"Get in," he said roughly, opening the back door. Natasha climbed in right away, getting into her booster seat, but Clint stayed where he was, three fingers in his mouth. "Come on Clint, we need to go."

Still, Clint stared up at James until Steve came over to lift Clint into the jeep. Steve held the door until Clint squirmed his way into his own booster seat, then he helped the boy buckle his seatbelt and closed the jeep's back door firmly.

Keys. James needed to find his keys and drive them away, somewhere safe. He went back to the front seat to look, but Steve came around and held something out. The keys.

"Bucky," Steve said, his voice unnaturally calm. "I'll drive."

Drive. The last time James had let anyone drive him anywhere in a jeep, they'd been hit by an IED and James lost his arm. Still, Steve wouldn't know what to look for, wouldn't know if they were being followed. James wouldn't be able to watch behind them and drive at the same time.

"You can drive," James said faintly. The words tasted like oil on his tongue, thick and slimy and James felt his stomach rebel. He wasn't going to be sick, he didn't have _time_ to be sick, not until they were safe. "We have to go home."

Home was safe. No one would be able to hurt him or Natasha there.

Steve waited until James was in the passenger seat before starting the engine. He managed the modified vehicle easily, finding the signal light indicators on the steering wheel column next to the turn-knob designed for a one-armed driver. As Steve navigated them out of the parking lot, James turned in his seat to scan the surrounding vehicle traffic. It didn't appear as if anyone was tailing them. Maybe _he_ hadn't recognized James after all.

The road outside was mostly clear; cars fighting to get into the parking lot, not leave. James scanned the road just like he was taught for patrol. His hand itched for a weapon, but he'd make do on his own if it came down to a fight. If someone came at them, James could take them out while Steve got the children to safety. No one ever thought a crippled old man posed any danger.

The jeep turned onto the wrong street and James whipped around in his seat. "Where are we going?" he demanded, heart in his throat.

"My place," Steve said. His hands held the steering wheel tight; his knuckles white with the tension of his grip. "It's closer. We can be there in a few minutes."

Right. Steve's apartment. A one-bedroom in a solidly built brick building; small windows and easily defensible. James placed his hand flat on the dashboard and tried to keep breathing slowly. He was no good to anyone if he hyperventilated.

Dimly, he heard Clint's voice in the backseat, but the sound was far away. Steve's response was somewhat more intelligible. "James isn't feeling good, Clint, so we're going to go home. We can go back another day."

The roads were flashing by, traffic light now that they were away from the waterfront. The asphalt was empty behind them, and something in James' mind eased slightly as miles passed and no one was following them.

Natasha was silent, staring at James with huge, scared eyes.

Steve pulled the jeep up outside his apartment building. "Can we go upstairs?" he asked, and James didn't understand the question so he just got out of the vehicle, watching for traffic as he went to open the back doors to get the kids out. Natasha tried to grab James' hand once she was on the sidewalk, but James needed his hand free just in case _in case of what_ so he moved her hand to hold one of the belt-loops on his jeans.

"Come on," Steve said, slamming the jeep door behind him and urging Clint toward the building's main doors. "Let's go upstairs and we can all sit down."

The heavy outer door had a solid lock, and James watched the door swing shut after them, listening for the click of the latch. Only then did he follow Steve up the stairs, moving slowly so Natasha wouldn't lose her breath.

Steve let them into the dim third-floor apartment, turning the light on to illuminate the cramped space. The tiny kitchen lay on the immediate right, with Steve's bed in the far right corner of the living room, a screen half-heartedly folded in front of it. The sofa sat opposite to the bed, with its back to the wall between the living space and Clint's small bedroom.

The whole apartment could have fit into the main floor of James' house with room to spare. But right then, it was a place of safety and that was all James cared about.

"Do you feel better now?"

James looked down into Clint's upturned face. The feeling of relief at being in a safe space was only momentary, as James knew it would be. With the slowing of his heart rate came an ease in breathing, a drop in adrenaline, and too soon the aftermath of the attack would be upon him.

If he was in his own house, he'd have set Natasha up with a movie, then gone to the second-floor bathroom and locked the door to fall apart, but he couldn't do that here.

James took a breath, almost gagging at the air passing over the back of his tongue. "Why don't you and Natasha go play in your room?" James suggested, desperate to get the kids out of the way before he fell apart. "Go draw roller coasters or something."

"Okay," said Clint, turning to go to his room. Natasha didn't budge.

"Nat, go with Clint," James said.

"I wanna stay with you," his daughter said in a tiny voice, her hands balling up in the fabric of her shirt hem.

"Nat, go," James ordered. Small tremors were shaking at the edges of his vision, and every breath lay thick and heavy in his mouth.

"Natasha," Steve said, kneeling at Natasha's side. "Your dad doesn't feel well. I'm going to help him feel better. Can you go into Clint's room so we know you're okay?"

Betrayal on her face, Natasha inched towards Clint's room, stopping in the doorway for a long moment before letting herself be ushered inside and the door closed, cutting off the room from the rest of the house.

James had three glorious seconds of silence, before Steve turned on him and demanded, "What the fuck is going on?"

Bile and frustration and rage rose up in James' mouth, choking him. At least he made it into the bathroom before he threw up.

The toilet seat was up; a small grace from a bachelor household. James put his arms out to brace him as his knees gave out; his prosthesis jarred the stump of his arm as it took most of his weight. James heaved a few times, vomiting up everything he'd eaten that day, then he dry-heaved some more, his body trying to rid itself of the memories forced upon it.

He'd been through this before, the aftermath of a PTSD attack. He hated it, everything about this. He hated his body betraying him, thinking it was under attack from a past that was _over_.

Even more, he hated where it came from. Normal soldiers who'd had their arms blown off in IED attacks panicked about that; but what did James have? A head that mixed up everything he'd been through in Iraq and Afghanistan, with everything that happened when he was fifteen.

James couldn't even break down like a normal person.

He dry-heaved again, his spine bowing as his body tried to expel non-existent stomach contents, his gut muscles clenching painfully, the prosthetic's straps biting into his ribs under the contortion. There was a pause, in which James tried to catch his breath, tried to not remember, before his body doubled up again.

Something moved in the side of his vision. "Here's some water," Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with a glass in his hands.

James stared down into the toilet, spat a few times, and reached up to flush. He sat back, his ribs pressing against the cabinet, and took a few moments to catch his breath. The small bathroom was stuffy and stank, but nothing short of a fire could have pulled James out of the room in the state he was in.

After a minute, James held out his hand for the glass. He sipped slowly, wary of setting off his body again, but the water went down without protest. When the water was gone, James set the glass down, out of the way, and let himself slump against the cabinet. He needed to pull himself _together_.

Steve cleared his throat. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly.

James let out a bark of laughter, which tore at his abused throat. "I'm fucked up, that's what happened," he said, before leaning back over the toilet to spit again. "You think a guy gets his arm blown off and he's just fine?"

Steve was staring at James with a gaze too sharp for James' comfort. "Is that what happened?" Steve asked. "This is about what happened to your arm?"

James wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his t-shirt. "Fuck off," he muttered as he pulled his shirt off over his head, then set about trying to unfasten the arm's straps with a still-trembling hand.

Steve, in some flash of insight, didn't offer to help.

It took James a few tries to undo the buckle across his chest, but eventually he was easing the metal prosthetic off his arm stump and to the ground. With his arm gone, all the energy that had sustained James from Coney Island deserted him and he was left sitting shirtless and cross-legged on the bathroom floor, unable to move. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but no, real men didn't cry, real men didn't let other men see their weaknesses.

James pressed his left arm stump against his face, trying to ground himself. Years of dealing with this bullshit, and sometimes the only voice James could hear was his father's, telling him to man up, to stop acting like a girl, like some weakling, like some little _faggot_.

"You think this is about my arm?" James heard himself saying in a voice nearly inaudible. But of course, in the stillness of the bathroom, Steve heard him.

"You can tell me," Steve said quietly. James didn't laugh this time, but he felt a bubble of humorless mirth bubble in his guts.

"You think that will help?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "But anything you want to tell me, I'll listen."

"What, no 'I'll understand your pain' bullshit?" James snapped.

Steve's gaze was steady. "I may not be able to understand what you went through, but I can listen."

James shook his head. "Everyone always thinks it's the arm, you know?" He held up his left arm. The scars from the amputation, faded to white over time, stood out starkly in the overhead light. "And I'm not saying it ain't, because losing a fucking arm in an IED blast is a fucked up thing. I never been able to do stuff with my kid like other dads, you know?"

Steve's silence both reassured and infuriated James.

"I can't throw her into the air and catch her. I can't play catch, can't braid her hair without her help. I can't even open a goddamned fucking jar on my own, Steve."

"None of that's your fault."

"I know that!" James leaned back against the counter. The painted wood was unpleasantly cold against his bare skin. "All of this," and he slapped the side of his own head, a movement so sudden that Steve flinched. "Isn't about my arm. Not all of it."

Steve's eyes were huge in his pale face. "Then what is it?"

James let his head fall back and stared up at the haphazardly hung towels on the rack. Steve really needed to learn the benefit of proper folding, James thought absently. "Other stuff."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I really don't." The tile floor was cold under James' butt, but he couldn't move.

"Oh." A pause, then, "Do you have someone you can talk to?"

James shook his head. "Never have."

Steve shifted off the bathtub and settled on the floor. He should have looked ridiculous, a big man like Steve all scrunched up, but he didn't. "Sometimes it can help," he offered.

Tears pricked the edges of James' eyes, but he blinked them back. He was pretty sure that if he started to cry now, he would never stop. "I doubt that."

It took him a few minutes to get his breathing back under control. When he no longer felt like he was going to break down, he rubbed his eyes with his wrist and let his head rest against the cabinet.

"My dad threw me out of the house when I was fifteen," James said after a few minutes. Maybe if he didn't look at Steve, he could get through this. "I mean, I pretty much figured it was going to happen, but I just needed help and didn't have anyone out there to help me."

In such a small room, James could hear the change in Steve's breathing. "Why?"

"Why'd he throw me out?" James asked the towels. " 'Cause he wasn't going to have some filthy faggot living under his roof, claiming to be his son. He said he didn't raise me to be some filthy pervert."

The fading adrenaline in James' bloodstream was like cotton wrapping, muffling the memories of that horrible night. James was distantly surprised, as these memories usually bit deep whenever his mind was dragged back to that day.

"What did you need help with?" Steve asked. He was very still.

James pulled his knees up to his chest, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his forearm. "There was this guy," he said, and felt the nausea return. "I saw him today at Coney Island and that brought it all back and… I mean, I always knew I was gay, I just figured that if I ignored it, eventually I'd like some girl and be normal, you know?"

In the enclosed room, James could smell the fading stench of vomit, the odor of fear-sweat coming off his skin, the faint tang of metal that lingered on his skin from the prosthetic arm. His stomach roiled.

"And then, when I was fifteen, there was this guy." James swallowed. His throat hurt. "I met him at the youth centre playing basketball. He said he was sixteen, and he…" James closed his eyes. "He wanted to be my friend, he wanted to talk about stuff I was interested in, he actually listened to me. No one listened to me back then, you know?"

Steve swallowed hard. "He _said_ he was sixteen?"

"Yeah. Lying asshole."

"How old was he?"

"Twenty-four." James rested his forehead on his arm, so he wouldn't have to look at Steve's face. "He had a whole cover story, pretending his parents were out of town traveling so he had a place all to himself, so I'd go over to play video games and we'd, you know." James shifted around, so he could stare at the wall. "I was a little lump of a kid, Steve. I hadn't ever met anyone who was into me, you know?"

"He was nine years older than you?"

Steve's voice was blank, but James felt the lash of judgment strike out at him. He turned, looking directly at Steve. "Yeah, and you know what?" James' voice cracked. "I fell for it. Every single line."

His chest hurt like he was going to throw up again, but James couldn't stop the words, not now.

"You know what it's like to be fifteen and to think you're falling in love with someone who's only interested in fucking you?" James pressed his hand to the tiles, wondering if the bubbling constriction in his chest might be hysteria. "Or better yet, after a few months he starts getting you drunk at 'special parties' and you wake up the next morning and don't remember a fucking thing but you _know_ something happened?"

Steve went sheet-white and he tried to say something, but James couldn't stop, not now.

"I tried to get him to leave me alone after that, but he told me that if I didn't keep seeing him, he'd tell my parents what I was doing, and what would my dad do then?" James pressed his hand into a tight ball, the words nearly tripping over each other as they fell out of his mouth. "And I was so convinced that my dad would kill me, actually kill me if he found out that it took me another month, you know?" His breath hitched in a sickening laugh. "That was the longest month of my entire fucking life."

Steve moved then, reaching out to cover James' hand with his own, and that touch was probably the only thing that kept James from falling apart right then and there.

"Bucky," was all Steve said, was all he needed to say. James stared down at Steve's hand on his, and breathed in the thick air of that bathroom and slowly, slowly, the constricting bands around his chest began to ease.

"I told my dad, eventually," James said after a very long time. "I didn't care if he beat me to death, I just couldn't live like that anymore."

A scratch at the bathroom door drew their attention up sharply. Steve went up onto his knees and opened the door to reveal Natasha and Clint huddled there. It was obvious they were trying to eavesdrop.

"Come on," Steve said, standing and taking each child by the hand. "We're going to go across the hall to say hi to Mrs. Morris."

"I want to stay with Daddy!" Natasha protested, trying to struggle away from Steve.

"Just a few more minutes," Steve said, and then he was at the door and guiding the children out into the hall.

James stayed where he was. He felt wrecked, worse than he had after any Army mission. Then, the adrenaline had at least been productive; now he was used up and wrung out and all for what? The distant glimpse of one man's face, ripping away all the walls James had built up to keep himself and his family safe.

It had been _him_ , though. Seventeen years had passed and the man had changed, nearly as much as James had, but still James had known him. One didn't just forget the face of someone who'd broken up your life like that.

But time had not been kind. The man looked worn thin, sour and old. It might have been drugs or illness, James would never know. And it didn't matter. It had been seventeen years since James last saw him, and with any luck James would never cross paths with that man again.

(That was the one thing James had been grateful for, all those years ago. All that happened to him, and by some grace of god James hadn't caught anything. He'd gone alone to a clinic in Queens, months after it all happened, to get tested, having hoarded money from his paycheck working at the construction sites. When the public nurse told him that his test results all came back clean, that was the first and only time during the entire situation that James broke down in tears.)

The apartment door opened again and Steve slipped back inside. In that moment, his own pathetic situation became clear to him, and James made himself stand up. "The kids okay?" he asked, shuffling out of the bathroom.

"Yeah, I left them with a neighbor," Steve said. He stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "She has a new dog, Clint's a big fan."

"Is Natasha okay?" James asked, going over to the counter to turn on the kettle. Steve didn't have a coffee maker, but maybe he had some tea somewhere.

"She's worried," Steve admitted. "But I told her that I was going to be with you so you wouldn't be alone."

James rubbed his hand through his short hair. "I'm fine."

"Really?"

James started flipping through cupboard doors, looking for a mug. "It was a long time ago."

Steve started to say something, caught himself, and strode across the apartment to look out the window overlooking the street. The set of his shoulders told James the man was angry, but all James felt was tired.

"Look, yeah, so my dad threw me out, so what?" James said, taking down a faded coffee mug from the shelf. "I didn't even have a chance to put shoes on, but you know what?" James glanced over his shoulder. Steve was still looking out the window. "I survived. I walked through the rain to the high school, got in at a loose window, and spent the night in the locker room, okay?"

He found a box of tea in a cupboard behind the graham crackers, and pulled out the lone remaining teabag. That went into the mug.

"I had gym shoes in my locker, and I'd had my wallet in my jeans when Dad kicked me out. I borrowed a jacket from a friend and I was set." James leaned against the counter. "For months, I'd been trying to keep the worst thing from happening, and after it did? The world didn't end."

Steve turned away from the window. "Where did you stay?"

James shrugged. "Around. A friend's one night. The shelter the next. I could shower in the locker room in the morning after track practice, it was no big deal."

That last might have been the closest to a lie James had gotten. It had been a very big deal, wondering where he was going to sleep, worrying about what he'd do when winter came. But James had known, without a doubt, that he was never going to be able to live under his father's roof again.

"But in the end, it didn't matter."

The kettle burbled, a wisp of steam appearing. James poured the lukewarm water into the mug, unable to stay still any longer.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

James stared at the teabag floating in the water. "My dad died." He gave the mug a swirl to get the tea to brew faster. "A couple weeks after I told him. Construction accident. A wall fell down, he lost his balance and hit his head. Died before the ambulance got there."

James tasted the tea, made a face at the tepid water, and set the mug down.

"I'm sorry, Bucky," Steve said from across the room.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter." James left the mug on the counter and walked over to the sofa, slumping down into the comfortable misshapen cushions. "My mother, you know, she came and got me at school to tell me he was dead. Told me she was bringing me back home and we'd just forget all this silly nonsense." James curled his arm over his chest, wondering at the ache in his gut. "Silly nonsense, that's what she called it."

And they'd never talked about it, not why James had been gone for two weeks, not what had driven him to ask his father for help, knowing what the man's reaction would be. The closest his mother had ever gotten to acknowledging that her son was gay was her slight hesitation when he'd told her he was going to join the Army after 9/11. Not that he'd be in danger; just as to whether they took 'his kind'.

Steve came over to sit on the sofa beside James. "I wish I could have been there to help you, Buck."

"Things would have turned out a whole lot different," James said. "But you know what the best part was?"

Steve looked at him as if James had finally snapped, but James just grinned.

"Guess who comes around school the day after my dad's funeral?" James asked.

"What, the guy?" Steve demanded.

"Yup." James' grin was painful. "Comes up to me and says hey. That's when I clocked him. A couple of the guys from the football team had to pull me off him, which is probably best because I was going to beat the son of a bitch to death. I told him, as he was hauling his sorry ass away down the street, if I ever saw him again I was going to break his neck."

"Did you think about going to the police?"

James raised his eyebrows at Steve. "Why?"

"If he was nine years older than you—" Steve stopped when he saw the expression on James' face.

"Ain't no cop going to listen to my story," James said. "Lot of guys my father's age figure that guys like me get what's coming to them." He leaned forward to rest his elbow on his knee. "Heard the same thing happened to some guys in the Army. Not me," he said hastily as Steve's face dropped. "I'd had enough of that as a kid, I wasn't going to let that happen to me again, even if it cost me my career. But you'd hear rumors about who to steer clear of."

"Jesus Christ," Steve exclaimed.

"I kept my head down and passed on the intel to the new guys," James said. "I was usually the youngest in my unit but things were okay."

"They didn't mind that you were…"

"Gay?" James supplied, wondering at Steve's sudden delicacy. "Homosexual? A flaming faggot?"

"Bucky, stop."

"I kept to myself, Steve," James said. "Most of the guys figured I was straight and shy, no big deal. The job was all that mattered."

"And now?"

"I'm not in the Army any more. The only thing that matters to me is Natasha." James rubbed his hand over his mouth. He wondered if a cup of strong coffee would do him any good, or just make him puke again. "It doesn't matter. It's over."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No."

"What was his name?"

James' head shot up. Steve had his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set. "No fucking way."

"Bucky—"

"No, okay? There isn't any goddamn thing anyone can do about it now."

"But—"

"What are you going to do, huh? Find him and run over him with your motorcycle?" Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea. James pushed the thought away. "Let it go, Steve. It all happened a very long time ago."

Steve let out an exasperated breath. "I just… I want to do something."

"You do? Okay, how about this. Can we stop talking about it?"

Steve glared at James for a long moment, then the tension went out of his shoulders. "If that's what you want."

James shook his head. "What I _want_ is a shirt and a cup of coffee and some fucking idea what I'm going to tell the kids why I freaked out."

"It didn't look like that," Steve said, climbing to his feet. "That you freaked out. Just that you decided we really needed to go."

That was small comfort to James, but at least the kids wouldn't be scared of him now. "It's good to know that Natasha still listens to me."

"She sure does." Steve pulled a folded shirt out of a bin under his bed and threw it over to James. "You okay if I go get the kids?"

"Yeah," James muttered, shaking out the t-shirt. "We can get out of your hair."

"Or you can stay if you want."

James pulled the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. "What?"

"Stay." Steve had his hands in his pockets, trying to appear at ease, but James knew him too well for that. "For a while. I can order dinner, the kids can watch a movie. Just a chance to chill for a bit."

"I can drive just fine," James countered, suddenly angry that Steve would think that James was too weak to pull himself together.

"It's not that," Steve protested. "Just stay for a while. Hang out with us, let the kids calm down. They might do that better if they're together."

James sat back against the cushions. "Were they freaking out?"

"No," Steve said quickly. "Clint's confused by why we had to leave so early. He thinks you got sick."

"And Natasha?"

"Natasha was quiet."

Damn it. Natasha quiet in a situation like this meant she was scared. James wanted to hit himself for being so wrapped up in his own problems that he hadn't seen that. "Can you go get them?"

"Be right back," and Steve vanished out the front door.

James stared up at the ceiling. He'd tried so hard to keep his problems away from Natasha, but now in the space of six weeks he'd lost it twice, the first time when he woke Natasha with his nightmares, and now today.

The only thing that mattered to him was keeping it together for his little girl. And he'd do it. If he needed a little help, from Steve or Maria or Nick, he'd ask. James would do anything for Natasha.

Thinking of Natasha made James involuntarily remembered being a kid, of being fifteen, of being so excited to think he was falling in love with someone special, only that hadn't been it at all.

For so long, it had been easy to be angry at the guy who'd betrayed and used him, but as he sat in Steve's cluttered apartment, waiting for his best friend to bring back their children, James was hit with a sudden, blinding rage towards his long-dead father. Now that he had a child of his own, James could not comprehend how his own father could act the way he had.

"Fuck you," James said under his breath, pressing his hand against his eyes. "God fucking _damn_ you, you bastard."

The apartment door opened with a creak, and in rushed two very worried children. Clint and Natasha ran over to James; Clint climbed up beside the man while Natasha leaned against James' knee. Her mouth was turned down at the corners and her eyes were wide. "Daddy, are you sick?" she demanded, digging her fingernails into the denim of his jeans.

"My dad said you feel bad," Clint added, burrowing under James' left arm to give the man a hug. "Do you have to go to the hospital?"

Natasha's lower lip began to tremble. Before she could dissolve into tears James pulled her up onto his knee and put his right arm around her. "I was feeling sick," he told the children as Natasha wrapped her arms around his neck. "And I do not need to go to the hospital."

"Why'd you feel sick?" Natasha demanded, leaning back to look James in the eye. "Did you eat a bad thing? Did you fall?"

"No." James kissed Natasha on the cheek, then bent over to kiss the top of Clint's head. These little ones, so young but so quick and intelligent. "Can I talk to you both like grown-up children?"

Natasha nodded and Clint sat back. Steve, who had locked the door and turned on the kettle, now came over to sit on the sofa beside James.

"Well," said James, who had no idea how to say any of this, "Sometimes, when you get hurt real bad, you get a scar on the outside of your body."

"Like your arm," Natasha said immediately. She pointed at James' arm stump supporting Clint's body. "A bomb exploded and your arm got hurt and they took you to the hospital and you got better."

"Exactly." James gave Natasha's shoulder a squeeze. "I got better, but the scar shows where my body got hurt."

Clint turned around so he could see James' arm. "Dr. Smalles said that I can't hear good because I have scars on my ear's drum," he said, gently patting James' stump.

"That's right," James said. "When we get hurt, sometimes we have scars. But sometimes, when you get hurt on the inside, you get scars there too."

The children looked at him.

"Like when something bad happens, like you get very scared or very frightened, that can stay with you for a long time," James went on, heartily wishing now that he had left this subject alone. "After it happens, you remember something and it can make you upset."

"Did that happen to you?" Natasha demanded, clutching at his shirt collar. "Did you get scared?"

James took a deep breath. He could feel Steve's presence next to him on the couch and was somehow reassured. "I saw something today that reminded me of a time I was hurt real bad," James said in an even voice. "And when I saw that thing, I needed us to leave, so that's why we left so fast. Thank you both very much for listening to me so quickly."

Clint climbed up to rest his arm on James' shoulder. "After we went away did you stop being scared?"

 _Absolutely not_ , James thought. Aloud he said, "Leaving there and coming home made me feel better."

"Then we don't ever have to go back there ever again," Clint said solemnly, and gave James a big hug. Natasha followed suit, and James was soon being strangled by two enthusiastic children.

"Okay, first of all, thank you for such great hugs," James said as he tried to pry the children off his neck. "And second, we're going back to Coney Island, all of us, and we're going to have fun."

"What if you get scared?" Natasha demanded, pinching James' earlobe.

"Then I will deal with that." James caught Natasha's hand. "That's one of the things about being a grown up. Sometimes you get scared but you have to do stuff anyway."

"Sometimes I get scared," Clint confessed, his little knees digging sharp into James' thigh.

"Everyone gets scared." James shifted the children to the sofa before moving around to sit on the small coffee table. "If something ever happens that scares or frightens you, you can come find me or Steve right away, okay? And we can help you."

"How come?" Natasha asked.

"Because sometimes when you're scared, you need to go away from the thing that scares you," James said. "And sometimes, you need to stay and face what scares you."

"How do you know which one?" Clint asked, sticking his finger up his nose. Steve reached over to pull the finger free.

"You got to figure that out," James told them. "That's part of growing up, learning that. But with us to help you, sometimes it doesn't feel so scary."

Natasha reached out to pat James' cheeks. "I will help you," she vowed. "Even if it's scary. Even if there are monsters."

"Me too!" Clint enthused.

James felt a lump rising in his throat that had nothing to do with the afternoon's disaster. "Well, that makes me just the luckiest guy in the whole of New York, doesn't it?"

The boiling kettle interrupted the scene before James really did break down, and Steve enlisted Clint and Natasha to help him make coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the kids while James pulled himself back together. They all sat around the tiny kitchen table to sip their drinks. Then Clint asked if he and Natasha could have a story, and Steve went to get a book off the top shelf in the hallway closet.

"This is a book I've been saving for a very special occasion," Steve said, placing the paperback on the table. "It's a story about two little boys and a little girl who went to school and had to be very brave."

"What's it called?" Clint asked, wiping his hot-chocolate-covered mouth on his shirt.

"Harry Potter," Steve said. He glanced up at James. "It's a story about a boy who finds out he's a wizard."

James gave Steve the stink-eye. "Steve," he said. "I was in Afghanistan, not on _Jupiter_. I know who Harry Potter is."

"Harry Potter has glasses," Natasha informed her father, pointing at the book's cover. "Like Clint. But he has dark hair. Like you."

"I like him," Clint said, taking the book. "Daddy, read me the story."

"All right." Steve ushered everyone over to the sofa, settling Clint at his side. James pulled Natasha onto his lap and pressed his face against her hair. She smelled of sunshine and sunscreen and hot chocolate, and her breathing was even as she wiggled impatiently, waiting for the story to begin. Steve cleared his throat. "Chapter one is called, 'The Boy Who Lived'."

 _That's a good start,_ James thought, watching Steve. He'd told Steve the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and Steve hadn't backed away in disgust. He'd been there for James when James needed him the most, taking care of the kids, letting James find his way back to himself.

And even now, he was still taking care of James as well as the kids. For now, they'd read, then they would order dinner (James was paying, no matter what Steve said). One day they'd go back to Coney Island so Clint could ride his beloved roller coasters and Natasha could play the frog game.

It didn't matter what else happened. More than once in James' life the absolute worst-case scenario had happened to him, and he had survived to fight another day. He might only have one arm, but he could work, he could support his daughter, he could do what he needed to do.

James was a survivor. Nothing and no one could ever take that away from him.


	13. Polka Dots and Moonbeams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Polka Dots and Moonbeams - Cannonball Adderley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKrWt1LNjZA).
> 
> There's an Outtake chapter that takes place preceding this chapter, Steve's POV: [**Hands of Clay: Outtakes: After Hot Chocolate**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2585939/chapters/7106078). You might want to read that first.

* * *

James and Natasha left Steve's house just after ten. Natasha had calmed down somewhat, but she was still too quiet for James' liking as they drove home. Once they were inside the house, even though it was late, James gave Natasha a bath to wash off the sunscreen and dirt from the day. Rousing herself, Natasha demanded James use lots of bubble bath and James complied.

After some prodding, James got Natasha talking about her favourite things at Coney Island. Natasha talked about the carousel and about the roller coaster and how much fun it had been to go to a fun place with her very best friend. "But Daddy," she added as James tucked her into her little bed, "Do you know what would be even _more_ fun?"

James smoothed the wrinkles out of the light blanket. "Tell me."

Natasha reached for James' hand. "If we go to Disneyland," she whispered, eyes wide and solemn.

James smiled at his daughter. "Going to Disneyland would be very fun," he agreed, bending over to kiss Natasha's forehead. "Do you think you can go to sleep now?"

"No." Natasha wrapped her hand around James' thumb. "Daddy, if we go to Disneyland, will there be bad men there too?"

Sensing this was going to take a while, James settled on the edge of Natasha's bed. "What kind of bad men?"

"Bad men like made you scared today," Natasha said. Her eyes were wide and very green in the light from the bedside lamp.

James sighed. His body still ached with the remembrance of the afternoon, and he was pretty sure he'd pulled something in his back with all the vomiting. If it was up to him, he'd crawl into bed and try to forget that afternoon had ever happened, that he hadn't seen _him_ at Coney Island. But Natasha had been there, Natasha had seen James fall apart, and he couldn't just pretend it hadn't happened.

"The man who scared me today," James said cautiously, "He's not a threat to us. He's never going to come near us again, do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said. She squeezed James' thumb with a sudden ferocity. "But if he does, I'll make him go away!"

"Nat—"

"I'll hit him!" Natasha went on, sitting up. "I'll hit him with an axe and he will die!"

Stunned at the savagery in Natasha's voice, James gathered the girl up in his lap, wrapping his arm around her. She was shivering in agitation. "No one is ever going to hurt us," James said quietly, rocking Natasha. "Not me, not you. I promise you, Natasha, I'm going to keep you safe."

He knew it was impossible to protect Natasha forever, but James would do anything at all to keep his daughter safe. Anything.

"And I'll keep you safe too," Natasha said in James' ear, hugging his neck tight. "I'll hit the bad men with an axe!"

James shushed her, and when Natasha had stopped shivering, he sat back to look Natasha in the eye. "Why are you saying that?" he asked. "Who put that idea in your head?"

"It was in a book at school," Natasha said. She wiped her nose on her sleeve before cuddling up against James' chest. "There was a bad man and he killed people with an axe and there was blood."

"Where did you get a book like that?" James asked. St. Ursula's was usually pretty good about keeping age-inappropriate reading materials out of the classroom; he'd have to have words with the school about this.

"In the library," Natasha said. She balled her hand up in James' shirt, twisting the fabric tight. "I didn't like it. It made me feel bad in my tummy."

James pressed a kiss against Natasha's hair. "You don't need to think about that ever again," he promised. "We're safe inside this house, and no one is ever going to hurt us, you understand?"

"Okay," but Natasha did not sound convinced.

"I have an idea." James shifted Natasha so she was holding onto his neck, and stood, holding her weight on his right arm. "Let's go make sure the alarm is on, okay?"

Natasha nodded against his neck.

Down they went to the house's main level. James showed Natasha the alarm panel by the front door, then they went to the back door, James keeping up a soothing flow of commentary the whole time. He talked about how it was time for sleep and then tomorrow it would be morning and Skye would be there and Clint would be there and they would have lots of fun. At first, Natasha was alert, but as James walked back and forth in the dimly lit living room, she began to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Aware that getting a sleeping five-year-old into bed was an impossible feat for a one-armed man, even with his two-million-dollar prosthetic arm, James walked them back upstairs. Natasha was barely awake when James helped her into her bed and covered her with the sheets. "Good night, baby girl," James whispered as he turned out the light.

"Not a baby," Natasha argued sleepily. "I'm a big girl."

"You're right," James conceded, placing Bear next to Natasha's hand. "You're such a big girl now and I'm so lucky to be your daddy."

Natasha let out a noisy snuffle. "One day I'll ride the roller coaster," she said, and then she was out.

James sat watching her sleep for a while. Natasha had grown so much in the last five years, but she was still so small and delicate. James would do anything to keep her safe, but he knew he wouldn't always be there for her. But he would make sure that she could keep herself safe.

Maybe those taekwondo lessons Maria suggested would be a good idea, after all.

With a sigh, James stood carefully so as not to disturb Natasha's slumber. He walked to the door and, taking one last look at his sleeping daughter, went out and closed the door behind him.

In the hallway, he took a minute to breathe. It had been a hellish day, and this from a man who'd spent years in the middle of a war zone. But at least in a war zone, he could be sure he wouldn't have seen that goddamned bastard.

Or if he had? Well, once in a while bullets had a tendency to go astray.

James shook his head sharply. He wasn't going to think like that. He hadn't resorted to fantasies of homicide when he was fifteen and still living in that nightmare; he wasn't going to do so now when he was thirty-two and _safe_.

Quietly, James went downstairs and into the kitchen, where he set about making a pot of coffee (decaf; he didn't really want to be up all night if he could avoid it). He hadn't eaten much dinner at Steve's, but now, with his daughter safe upstairs and his house locked up around him, James was suddenly starving.

Maybe it was the memory of that long week where he didn't have anywhere to stay and only ten dollars to keep himself fed, James mused as he opened the fridge door. He hadn't ever really been hungry as a child, and that week had certainly been a wake-up call. Now, with a fridge full of food and a warm bed upstairs, James knew he didn't have to be scared anymore. There wasn't anything that bastard could do to him.

Even the worst of it, the idea that someone might find out, hadn't been the disaster James had imagined it. He'd told Steve, and Steve had listened.

It didn't make remembering what had happened any easier, but talking about it hadn't made things worse. Steve hadn't looked at James like he was contaminated or broken or _anything_. Steve had still called him Bucky, after he knew. He hadn't stopped Clint from climbing onto James' lap, hadn't tried to keep James away from his son.

James reached for the peanut butter jar. He didn't think that Steve would have done those things, not really, but seventeen years was a long time to hold onto the messed-up thinking that convinced him that being taken advantage of by someone he hated was better than asking his parents for help.

James set the peanut butter on the counter, then kicked the fridge closed. James didn't want to think about his parents and what happened seventeen years before. He was a grown man now, with a daughter of his own and a nice house and a good job. Everything that happened to him, was in the past.

Pulling a spoon out of the drying rack, James carried it and the peanut butter jar over to the table. The coffee had finished brewing, so he poured himself a cup and went to sit down. The peanut butter jar was plastic, chosen specifically for the easy-to-unscrew lid. With no impressionable children around to see his bad example, James wedged the jar between his knees to unscrew the lid one-handed. A dinner of peanut butter and decaf wasn't the worse meal he'd ever had, all told.

He just didn't know what he was going to do next.

Steve had been fine that evening, but what about tomorrow? Would Steve get weird about the whole thing? James really hoped not; he wasn't sure he had the energy to deal with that. If Steve pulled some after-school-special type of intervention, James was going to sock him in the jaw. And Steve had that weird sense of righteousness; he wouldn't hit a one-armed man, not at least until after James got a few good licks in.

Putting another spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth, James wondered idly if he could take Steve in a fight, given that Steve was a mountain of muscle and James was down a wing. After a moment, he figured that he probably could. James' years of Ranger training, which included a certain prowess at hand-to-hand combat, were still worth something even with only one arm.

James dropped the spoon on the table with a clatter. His throat felt sticky and his head ached, his back pulled whenever he breathed and he was so _tired_. He didn't know if this was going to be one of his Bad Nights; they sometimes came up on him after he'd been reminded of the whole mess. But tonight? This was the first time he had talked about it with anyone, ever. Would that makes things better, or a hell of a lot worse?

Picking up his coffee cup, James headed into his office. He'd been dealing with his crappy childhood for years now, it didn't make any difference to his responsibilities. The next day was Thursday, and he had an important meeting with Maria in the city in the afternoon, for which James was woefully unprepared. He'd been spending too much of the summer with the children and with Steve.

Not that it hadn't been wonderful.

But James had work to do, to keep a roof over their head and food on the table and Natasha's expensive school paid for. He didn't have time for his own excuses.

Now, he would work, then he would go up to bed and lie awake, waiting for the nightmares to come for him.

Nightmares couldn't hurt him or Natasha.

* * *

The next morning, James woke before his alarm and blinked at the window, the faint glow of sunrise illuminating the curtains. When he moved, his back muscles let out a protest. Biting back a groan, James sat up and swung his legs out of bed, nearly stepping on Natasha sleeping on the rug beside his bed.

Once his heart climbed out of his throat, James slid out of bed and knelt down. Natasha's breathing was slow and even, her eyes moving under her eyelids as she dreamed. She had even dragged in her Bear and her blanket to make a little nest by the side of James' bed. He hadn't heard her, he had been sleeping so deeply.

"Crazy kid," James said fondly, and hurried off to the bathroom.

A glance in the mirror told James that he looked horrible and probably smelled worse. There were dark circles under his eyes and he needed a shave. He could shave later, but he didn't want to feel gross for a moment longer, so James stripped out of the t-shirt and boxers he'd slept in and stepped into the shower.

The hot water and steady spray on his skin helped to clear sleep out of his mind. He was mildly surprised that he hadn't woken screaming with nightmares. Maybe there was something in this whole 'talking about it' thing.

Or, James thought as he reached for the shampoo, maybe he'd just repressed the whole thing and the nightmares would come back double the next night. That was a cheerful idea.

Well, if it did, it did. James had a full day ahead of him and he couldn't be worrying about future nightmares. He had a morning with the kids, and then an afternoon with Maria and clients. He'd deal with things as they came.

With that in mind, James ducked his head under the spray to rinse his hair.

After his shower, he crept back into his room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Natasha was still sleeping in her little nest on the floor, so James quickly donned sweatpants and another t-shirt, with some vague idea of getting some exercise, but the twinge in his back warned him against it. He wasn't sure he could just step over Natasha to go back to bed, and he probably wanted to wash those sheets first too.

Natasha looked so comfortable on the ground that James gave a mental shrug and went to get a blanket off his shelf. He lay down on the rug beside Natasha, putting the blanket under his head as a pillow and watching his daughter sleep in the early morning light. He wasn't sure why she'd come into his room; did _she_ have a bad dream? James was just glad she was there, and sleeping so soundly, and healthy, and safe.

Knowing he was smiling like an idiot, James closed his eyes. Just a few more minutes of sleep and then he'd get up to face the day.

He was pulled back to consciousness some time later when Natasha exclaimed in his ear, "Daddy, what are you _doing_?"

James opened his eyes to find Natasha a few inches from him, her face screwed up in alarm.

"Did you fall out of bed?" she demanded.

"I'm just fine," James said, putting his arm around Natasha and rolling onto his back, pulling Natasha along with him. She squealed in outrage. "I saw you sleeping on the floor and I thought that was a great idea."

"You are so _silly_!" Natasha scolded, her kicking feet coming very close to doing James a serious injury. He let her go and she got up, hands on her hips as she glared at him. "Silly!" she said again.

"Sure am." James sat up. His body protested; after five years out of the army, he had lost the knack of sleeping on floors. "Why are you in here?"

"Bear thought you might be scared in your sleep," Natasha said, picking up Bear and kissing the stuffed animal on the cheek. "So I came to make sure you weren't scared."

A wave of happiness pushed through James' chest, bringing a smile to his face. "Thank you," he said seriously. "I'm the luckiest dad in the whole world."

"The whole world?" Natasha asked doubtfully, letting herself be drawn into a good-morning hug. "That's a lot of people."

"I know." James ruffled Natasha's hair. "That's how lucky I am, to have you as my kid."

"I sure am glad you wanted to be my daddy," Natasha said, just as serious as James. "Steve didn't have anyone to adopt him until he was an old little boy."

Wondering where this was coming from, James gave the conversation the attention it deserved. "You're right. After his mom died, Steve was adopted when he was twelve."

"Steve's mom died when he was five." Natasha held up one hand, her fingers spread wide like a starfish. "I'm five."

"Yes, you are." James stood, picking Natasha up as he rose. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be your dad for a very long time."

"How long?" Natasha asked as they headed to her bedroom.

"For a hundred years."

"That's a long time," Natasha told him.

"It sure is." James set Natasha on her feet and took Bear out of her grasp. "Let's get dressed."

Natasha headed to her dresser. "Daddy, why did Steve's mommy die?"

Wondering how he got himself involved in these conversations before seven in the morning, James went over to make Natasha's bed. "Steve's mother had cancer."

"Cancer is bad," Natasha said, pulling her purple socks from the drawer. "Mrs. Dellings had cancer."

Mrs. Dellings had been one of Natasha's preschool teachers when the girl was three; James wouldn't have thought the girl remembered that. "She did." He sat in the big armchair, knowing Natasha didn't need any help. "But Mrs. Dellings had breast cancer, and she took medicine and she got better. Steve's mother had pancreatic cancer, that's different."

James had been seven years old when he learned what cancer meant, laboriously reading the encyclopedia in the school library to figure out what his new best friend was talking about. He'd asked his mother but all he got was a clip across the ear for talking 'about things he shouldn't.'

"Why?" Natasha asked, sitting down to don her socks.

"It's in a different place in the body." And so deadly; from talking to Steve over the years, James eventually pieced together that once Sarah Rogers finally made it to a doctor and was diagnosed, she'd only had a few weeks to live, and no other family was around to care for Steve; his father had walked out on Sarah when she was eight months pregnant with Steve.

Jesus Christ, and _James_ had been moping about how he had it bad. At least his parents fed him and housed him until his dad kicked him out at fifteen. James really needed to pull his head out of his ass.

"Will I do cancer?" Natasha asked, jumping to her feet and running over to James. He hauled her onto his lap.

"No," James said, deciding that a five-year-old didn't need to hear the odds of getting sick again in her lifetime. Wasn't whooping cough as an infant enough for one little body to deal with? Besides, her doctor said that Natasha was as healthy as an ox. An asthmatic ox. "You will not."

"Will you?" Natasha looked at him solemnly.

"Absolutely not," James said, pushing back the whispers in his head, the reminder that his mother died of lung cancer, exacerbated by her three-pack-a-day cigarette habit. "Like I said, I'm going to be around for another hundred years."

"Okay," Natasha said, although she did not look convinced. She slid to the ground and headed to her closet. By the time James found the energy to haul himself to his feet, Natasha had already picked out another eye-catching outfit of pink and yellow leggings with her green top.

Not even seven in the morning, and it appeared the day's conversation about death had reached its conclusion. James was too old for this.

* * *

Any inner peace James might have found about the previous day was quickly knocked away when Steve and Clint arrived. "Clint, go play, I need to talk to Bucky," Steve said as soon as they were in the door.

"Okay." Clint took off his sunglasses and placed them carefully on the hall table, then stormed off in search of Natasha.

Oh god, now what? James wondered, his heart sinking at the expression on Steve's face. Was this about the previous day at Coney Island, or what James told Steve afterwards?

Meanwhile, Steve's expression was flustered and if he didn't start talking soon, James was going to scream. "What?" James asked, his voice coming out harsher that he intended. "What's with your face?"

"I need a favor," Steve said in a rush, dropping the sports bag of Clint's stuff by the door. "And I wouldn't ask this if I had any other options, it's just—"

James closed the door and threw the deadbolt, the noise cutting Steve off. "You had any coffee?" James asked.

"No."

"Need some?"

"God, yes," Steve said in a rush. From the floor above came the squeals of two excited children; at least Natasha and Clint were out of things. James went through the living room and into the kitchen, Steve on his heels. "Sorry to do this, Buck, but everything just got thrown at me after you left last night."

"What did?" James asked as he poured Steve a cup of coffee. "Is Clint okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine." Steve slurped loudly at his coffee. "It's work."

"What about it?"

"There's this charity event tomorrow night, at Stark Tower," Steve went on, following James back into the living room. "I was originally just supposed to be there for the dinner, so I could take Clint to archery class and then be back to put him to bed, the neighbor was going to watch him in between, but it looks like one of the Stark Foundation's biggest donors is coming into town for the event and all my staff are already busy and they need someone to chaperone this guy around and—"

"Yes."

Steve frowned. "You don't know what I'm going to ask."

"You need someone to take Clint to archery class then watch him until you get done." James sipped at his own coffee and looked pointedly at Steve.

"From the sounds of things, I'm going to be working until the party breaks up," Steve said, but the worried expression was slowly leaving his face. "The last one went until four in the morning."

"So we have a sleepover," James said. "Steve, if you get off work at four in the goddamn morning, you can't go keeping an eye on Clint on Saturday, you know that. Come crash over here when you're done, we'll try to keep the noise down."

Steve looked at James for a long moment, then that slow, brilliant smile spread over his face and James went a little weak at the knees. "You're the best," Steve said, still grinning.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Steve took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down. "So you know Clint's birthday is coming up," he said.

"Yeah, in a couple weeks, right?"

"Yeah. I talked to Abraham a few days ago; he was planning on being home by then and we were going to head out to Jersey for a bit, but a bunch of Abraham's old colleagues are going to a medical conference in Atlantic City that weekend and he's going to go out to join them."

Atlantic City in August. James considered. That didn't sound too bad, actually.

"So that left me without plans, and anyway, Tony, Tony Stark I mean, he's got this place in the Hamptons that he hardly ever uses and I thought we could spend the week in the Hamptons at the beach house."

James blinked at Steve. "Sure, I guess," he said slowly. "Skye can watch Nat alone for the week, won't be a hardship."

"No, that's not what I meant," Steve said. "I mean, I thought we could spend a week in the Hamptons. The four of us."

"What?" James blurted out. "You mean, like, the kids and…"

"And us," Steve said. His cheeks were going pink, no doubt with the misunderstanding. "It'll be great. The big house has an outdoor pool we can use, and there's the beach, and there's things for the kids to do and some really nice restaurants if you want to go out some nights."

James put down his cup, trying to pretend that the fluttering in his chest wasn't because Steve had just asked him to spend a week at the beach. This was about the children, James told himself sternly. It was Clint's birthday and that was all that mattered. "I, uh… Yeah, I mean, let me check with Maria to make sure it's okay, but yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

Steve smiled again, wide and bright and if the kids hadn't picked that moment to storm down the stairs, James didn't know what he would have done. "Daddy!" Natasha screeched. "Look what Clint showed me!"

She then proceeded to put her hands to her face and make farting sounds with her mouth. Clint, a few steps behind her, laughed so hard that he stumbled against Steve.

"Excellent," James said approvingly. "You can use that for your college application."

Steve steadied Clint. "Didn't you have something to show Bucky?" Steve asked.

"Yeah!" Clint yelled, bolting over to the sports bag by the door. "I brought something!"

Unzipping the bag, Clint pulled free a ratty, tattered bundle of cloth that he hugged to his chest for a moment before coming back over to the adults. He thrust the raggedy bundle at James.

"Here!" Clint said, beaming up at James. "For if you gonna be scared!"

James knelt down to take the fabric from Clint. On closer examination, the fabric was a tattered stuffed animal that had seen better days. The toy had been washed so many times that the fabric was faded and the stuffing nearly flat. One eye had fallen out, and a bright blue patch had been stitched in its place.

And, from the adoring way Clint was looking at the object, it was much loved.

"Tell me about it," James said, falling back on a piece of parenting advice he'd been using since Natasha first shoved an indecipherable 'art' piece in his face years before.

"This is Floppy," Clint said, patting the toy's head lovingly. "My mommy gave him to me before I was even a baby. He's the bestest. Whenever I get sad I hug him." Clint looked up into James' face, his eyes wide. "Maybe if you get sad you can hug him too."

The innocent eagerness on Clint's face made something deep in James' chest turn over painfully. The previous day, James had come very close to scaring the children with his panic attack, and today, Clint was handing over his very favorite toy to make James feel better.

James really didn't deserve these kids.

"Thanks, Clint," James said. He had to stop to clear his throat. "That's very kind of you."

Clint beamed. "But I gotta take him home at bedtime, in case he gets lonely," the boy cautioned.

"That makes sense," James said. "Let's put Floppy over on the couch so that he can see what everyone's doing."

"Okay." Clint took Floppy from James' hand and placed the toy ceremonially in the middle of the couch cushions.

"He's pretty," Natasha cooed, leaning over to pat the toy on the head. _Pretty_ was the last word James would have used, but kids saw things in their own way.

"He's special, that's for sure," James said under his breath. Steve jabbed his elbow against James' ribs. "Say, are you going to tell him about tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I suppose I should." Steve picked Clint up and swung him up onto his lap. Natasha climbed up next to Steve, giggling the whole time. "Clint, there's something I need to tell you."

"I wanna go play with Natasha," Clint said, trying to slide down to the ground, squirming as his father held him in place. "Daddy, let me go."

"Just a minute." Steve got his elbow in place to hold Clint. "It's about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Friday," Natasha contributed, crawling over to James.

"You're right," James said, putting his arm around Natasha as the girl leaned against him.

"Clint," Steve began, "You know how I have to work late sometimes?"

"Uh huh." Clint made another attempt to escape his father, but to no avail.

"Tomorrow night, I have to work all night at the party."

Clint stopped struggling. "Do I have to miss archery class?" the boy demanded. "No, I don't want to!" He turned in Steve's grip to take hold of his father's tie.

"Easy, Clint," Steve said, bouncing the boy on his knee. "You're not going to miss your class. You're going to stay here with James and Natasha and James is going to take you to your class."

This obviously had not occurred to Clint. He let go of Steve's tie to stare at James, his finger going to his mouth.

"And then after that," Steve said, "You're going to come back here and spend the night with Natasha and James."

This was met with resounding silence.

"Like a sleepover," Steve went on, looking at James in desperation. "And then I'll come pick you up in the morning."

"I don't want you to!" Clint said. His reaction was so unexpected that James just sat there, staring. "I don't want you to go away!"

"I'm only going to be away for one night," Steve said in a hurry, hugging Clint tight. "And then I'm yours all weekend, I promise. Okay?"

Clint clung to his father, never quite descending into tears, but close enough. Steve shushed the boy, rubbing his back and trying to reassure him.

"Daddy, is a sleepover bad?" Natasha asked, crawling into James' lap and taking hold of his hand, a gesture James knew was seeking reassurance. "Why is Clint sad?"

James was only qualified to answer one of those questions, so he said, "A sleepover is when your best friend stays overnight and you get to watch a movie and eat popcorn, and then you drink hot chocolate and then go to bed. And when you wake up, you get to eat pancakes in your pajamas."

He might have been a little overboard in his description of a sleepover, but his attempt at winning Natasha over to the idea succeeded. She bounced up, mouth open in astonishment. "But Daddy!" she exclaimed. "That sounds fun!"

"It does sound fun," Steve said. "Doesn't that sound fun, Clint?"

The little boy turned his head in James' direction, sniffling mightily. "I didn't hear," he said, so sad and tragic that James had to bite back a smile. "What's fun?"

"What people do at a sleepover," James said again. He repeated the description for Clint. "Does that sound like something you'd want to do?"

"No," Clint said crossly.

"Why not?" Steve asked.

"Because Daddy not be here!"

"Clint," James said before the discussion could descend into a fight. "Do you want to play a game tomorrow instead?"

Clint glared at James. "What game?"

"It's called Camp Out," James said, reaching out his left arm stump to keep Natasha from overbalancing. "In Camp Out, you have sleeping bags in a tent, and you try to stay up all night, and you get to eat hot dogs and learn how to tie knots."

Steve opened his mouth, no doubt to tell James he was full of it, but Clint went very still. He stared at James for about ten seconds, then put his finger back in his mouth to chew on the knuckle. "I like hot dogs," the boy whispered.

Sensing he was close to a breakthrough, James pressed on. "Have you ever slept in a tent?" Both Clint and Natasha shook their heads. "It's really fun. You sleep in sleeping bags, and you have a pillow, and your very own flashlight."

"I want my own flashlight," Clint breathed.

Natasha turned and cuddled close to James, her sharp fingernails digging into his arm. "I want a flashlight too!" she chirruped.

"Everyone who goes camping gets a flashlight," James said. "What do you say, Clint? Will you give Camp Out a try?"

Clint was obviously torn between wanting to try new things, and holding onto his grudge, but Natasha had made up her mind. "I wanna do Camp Out!" she cheered, jumping down to the carpet. "Clint, we can do Camp Out together, it's the _best_!" She dashed away into the kitchen.

Clint took his finger out of his mouth to reach for Floppy. "Can Floppy come too?" he asked James.

"Of course," James said. "Stuffed animals are invited."

Clint slid to the ground with a bump. "Okay," he said, still sounding out of sorts. He looked up at his father. "Are you coming home today?"

"Of course I am." Steve reached down to straighten Clint's disheveled t-shirt. "And every other night for the rest of your life. Are you still mad at me?"

Clint shrugged. "I dunno." He wandered away after Natasha, Floppy hanging despondently from his left hand.

Steve sat back with a sigh. "That went well," he said.

"He'll get over it," James said. He stood up. "Well, at least until tomorrow night."

Steve glared.

"Hey, why are you looking so pissed? I'm the one who's got to go buy a tent. And flashlights." He thought back to what he had promised the children. "And sleeping bags. Jesus."

"Can't you just roll up some blankets on the floor?" Steve suggested as he shoved himself upright. "That's what we used to do."

"They'll get cold."

"It's the middle of summer," Steve pointed out, gesturing at the windows. "Cold is the one thing they won't get."

James shook his head. "Whatever. Get your ass to work, the kids will be fine."

"Yeah, sure thing." Still, Steve did not move. "I just… this means a lot to me, Bucky, it really does."

"It's no big deal," James said, uncomfortable with the way Steve was looking at him, like James had done something special. "You know I'm there for you guys, right?"

"I do." Steve took a deep breath. "Me too, same for you and Nat."

Before James could say something dumb, there came from the kitchen a loud "Uh oh," and a loud _crack._

James sighed and was already on his way when calls for "Daddy!" rose in two-part harmony.

* * *

The morning progressed as usual, dented peanut butter jar excluded. Steve went off to work, Skye arrived, and James escaped to his office to get in the final touches on the afternoon's presentation.

At half past eleven, he saved the file to the server before heading upstairs to see how the kids were getting along. He could hear music on the staircase, happy and light, like something Natasha would dance to in ballet class.

Coming out onto the landing, James saw the children over by the art wall, smearing brushstrokes of bright paint onto large sheets of paper as the music played. Skye was sitting by the speakers, watching the kids and making notes on her tablet computer. When she caught sight of James, she motioned for him to join her.

"What's up?" James asked, sitting down cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

"How the developing mind can translate sensory input as creative inspiration," Skye responded. She caught James' expression. "Or freeform art day, whatever you like."

"What's the music?" James asked. Across the room, Natasha was balancing on her tip-toes as she drew circles in red paint. Clint was holding very still, painting blue lines over a backdrop of yellow smears.

"The Sleeping Beauty Waltz." Skye said. "We've got some John Coltrane coming up next."

"Sounds like fun. You guys still up for lunch at twelve?"

Skye checked the time on her tablet. "Sure thing."

"Okay, I'll see you later." James stood, crossed the room to pat both children on the head, and headed downstairs. He stopped in at the kitchen to pull food out of the fridge for lunch, then went back upstairs to get ready for his meeting in the city.

He texted Skye to let her know that lunch was ready whenever the kids were, then set the phone down to get ready. He shaved with his safety razor, grimacing a little at his reflection in the mirror. Even before he'd lost his arm, he had favored an electric razor, as the faint shadow of facial hair made him look (at least to his eyes) older than his years. With a clean-shaven face and his hair cut short, James' reflection looked so unlike himself that he just stared for a moment.

Then he shook his head and reached for the aftershave.

Twenty minutes later, James slipped his wallet into his pocket and took stock. His prosthetic arm moved easily under his suit, the tie didn't feel too tight, and to James' surprise the trousers had buttoned without strain. He'd been sure that he'd put on a few pounds, what with how much he'd been eating with Steve and Clint around all the time.

Hoping the afternoon went off without complications, James headed downstairs.

The children were already in the kitchen, chattering up a storm as Skye helped them get their lunches ready. As James entered the room, Natasha stopped talking and gaped at him. "Daddy!" she exclaimed when she found her voice. "You are _pretty_!"

"I'm not too bad," James said, joining the kids at the table. "What's for lunch?"

Immediately distracted, Natasha said, "I have cheese and noodles!"

"I have peanut butter," Clint put in, indicating his plate where a substantial helping of peanut butter had been spread on a slice of bread.

Skye, who was piling her plate with salad and vegetables, said, "Clint, you want some jam with that?"

Clint shook his head. "Jam is for morning time, that's what Grandpa Abraham says."

"He does?" James took the salad bowl from Skye and dumped some greens onto his plate.

"Uh huh." Clint picked up his bread and nibbled on one edge. "Jam for morning and honey at night. Sugar in the middle."

"Can I have sugar?" Natasha asked, staring hopefully at James.

"No," James said. "Eat your lunch."

As Natasha pouted at him, James reached for the sliced chicken to add to his salad. He had a feeling that he would feel better if he wasn't starving. "What are you guys going to do this afternoon?" he asked, in an effort to redirect Natasha.

"We gonna go to the park," Clint said. "Skye said we can swing!"

"That sounds like fun." James reached across the table to brush a strand of hair out of Natasha's face. "Don't you think so, Natasha?"

"I guess so." Natasha, still pouting, put a piece of macaroni in her mouth. "Can we teeter totter too?" She giggled at this accidental alliteration.

"Of course," Skye said. "We have all afternoon."

"Can I take a book?" Clint asked suddenly. "To read?"

"Of course you can," Skye said, not missing a beat. "You can each bring a book, and we can play on the playground or we can read, whatever you want."

"Reading is okay," Clint declared, reaching for his water glass. "Before, I thought reading was dumb. But I like it."

"Me too," Natasha put in, grinning at her friend. "I like it when I read, and when Daddy reads, and when Steve reads too!"

"We started Harry Potter last night," James told Skye. "Steve had been saving that for a special occasion."

Skye smiled at this. "That's certainly a fun book," she said to the children. "Tell you what. How about I get us some books to read during the weekdays when your dads aren't here?"

Excited cheers met this suggestion.

After lunch, James and Skye piled the dirty dishes in the sink for later, while the children 'helped' by carrying food over to the fridge. Afterwards, James gathered up his briefcase while Skye sent the children upstairs for their books and sunscreen.

"Hey, Skye, you got a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

James picked up his car keys and shoved them in his pocket before turning around to face Skye. "Steve is thinking about taking Clint up to the Hamptons for a week around his birthday, at the start of August," James said. "He asked if Nat and I could come along."

Was it James' imagination, or was Skye's smile a little too wide? "Are you going?" she asked.

"If I can get away from work," James said, unwilling to commit just yet. "But if we do, we'll still pay you for the week."

"Do you need a house sitter?" Skye asked. "Keep an eye on the place, get the mail and stuff?"

That hadn't occurred to James, but as he thought about it, the suggestion had merit. "Yeah, I'll think about it," he said. "I'll be back around five. Call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," Skye said as the children stormed down the stairs, yelling at the top of their lungs. Natasha ran to James, while Clint made a detour to the couch.

"Daddy, can I wear my hat?" Natasha demanded.

"If you want. Listen to Skye while I'm gone, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said as she ran over to the closet.

Clint came up to Skye and James, cradling Floppy in his arms. "Are you gonna bring my dad home?"

James hadn't thought about that. With luck, he would be getting out of his meeting around the time that Steve normally left the city for home. "I'll call him and see, okay?" James ruffled Clint's hair. "You should leave Floppy here when you go out to the park, so he doesn't get lost."

"I will." Clint laid a noisy kiss on Floppy's head, then tossed the toy onto the couch. "Where's my shoes?"

James made his escape while Skye was busy with the children. Once he was in the jeep, however, he texted Steve with the offer of a ride home, then started the vehicle up for the drive into Manhattan.

* * *

The meeting with Maria and the clients went well, and at a quarter to four James and Maria were packing up to leave when James' phone pinged with a text message.

_I'd love a ride. Can u meet me in the coffee shop at Stark Tower around four?_

_Yp_ , James texted back. He slid his phone into his pocket, conscious that Maria was staring at him.

"What?"

"What was that about?" she asked, slinging her notebook back into her bag.

"Nothing."

"It's not Natasha, or you'd have called back," Maria mused. "It's not work-related, or else you wouldn't have that look on your face."

"What look?" James demanded, glaring daggers at Maria.

She was unimpressed. "Happy," she said. "You look happy."

"I do not," James said, standing abruptly. "Good meeting, I'll talk to you later."

He turned to leave the building, but Maria was already walking at his side. Since running away would be churlish, James bit his tongue and held the door for her as they exited out to the sidewalk.

"Is it Steve?" Maria asked as they crossed Forty-Third Avenue.

"It might be," James said after a minute.

"How is he doing?"

"Fine."

"And Clint?"

"Not so fine." James slowed his pace slightly, suddenly less eager to be anywhere. "Steve has to work tomorrow night and so Clint's staying at my place, but the kid seems a little worried about that."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Have a Camp Out," James said. "You know. Make up a tent, have the kids in sleeping bags, hot dogs for dinner, all that."

Pausing at the next intersection, he saw Maria looking at him with a smile on her face.

"What?"

"You're a good person," Maria said unexpectedly. "Those kids are lucky to have you."

James made a non-committal noise. "Maybe sometimes."

Maria slipped her hand through the crook of his left arm. "That's good enough," she said. "Now, where are we going?"

Resigning himself to his fate, James led Maria to Stark Tower, through the main doors and up to the mezzanine's coffee shop. It wasn't too busy at this time of day, and James could see Steve lounging at a table by the window.

"Well, well," Maria said under her breath as she slipped her arm out of James' and took a step away from him. "Well done, James."

"What?" James asked, but Steve glanced up then and saw them. He must have been reading something strange, because Steve's expression looked like someone had slapped him in the head.

"You must be Steve Rogers," Maria said, holding out her hand as they approached Steve's table. "I've heard so much about you."

Steve stood up, nearly knocking over the little table in his haste, and took Maria's hand. "I am. Are you Maria?"

"Yes," Maria said, while James quietly plotted his revenge in the background. "Natasha was right, you are very tall."

Steve's mild confusion gave way to a sheepish smile. "Natasha's talked a lot about you too," he admitted. His eyes moved over to James then, and his smile grew stronger. "Hey, Bucky."

"Steve," James said. "Maria, you want coffee?"

"Americano and a danish," Maria said, never taking her eyes off Steve. "Now, sit down and tell me all about yourself."

Loaded down with misgivings, James left Maria and Steve to their discussion and headed over to the counter. A few minutes later and ten dollars poorer, James headed back to the table with two cups and a bagged pastry. As he approached, he could make out that Steve and Maria were deep in a discussion about Clint and Natasha.

"…has to do with early childhood interaction, of course," Maria was saying. They both looked up as James set the cups down. "Most children with moderate hearing loss don't experience any difficulties as long as their caregivers and peer groups respond favorably."

"That's what I'm worried about," Steve admitted as James sat down. "Clint's great with Skye, and Natasha doesn't notice anything, but with a new school in the fall…"

Marveling at how Maria had managed to get Steve talking about something that even James hadn't dare broach, James said bluntly, "Clint's kindergarten teachers sucked. Put the kid at the back of the room where he couldn't see the board, even though they knew he couldn't hear great."

Maria made a _tsking_ sound. "Historically, children with hearing loss have not had an easy time in the educational system," she said as she reached for her coffee and pastry. "Those old prejudices can linger. From what I know about St. Ursula's, Clint should have an easier time of things than in his previous school."

Just as James was about to take the first sip of his coffee, Maria stood up.

"It was nice to meet you, Steve," Maria said with her FBI smile. "But I really do have to run." She gave James a significant look, then headed off without another word.

James, still holding his cup midair, said, "She does that."

Steve let out a breath. "She's interesting. How long have you two worked together?"

"A few years." James took a drink, relishing the mouthful of flavor. "I think she wanted to meet you."

"No, it was good," Steve said. The smile on his lip slowly fell away as he sat back to regard James. "Are you… okay?"

James raised his eyebrow at Steve. "Same as any other day."

"Yeah, but…"

James waited for Steve to finish that sentence, but when it became obvious that Steve was floundering, James sighed and put his coffee cup on the table. "What happened yesterday doesn't change anything," he said, pitching his voice low so they could not be overheard. "Nothing."

"But…" Steve sat forward and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

The coffee in James' stomach soured. "What, because you know now, I'm supposed to act all different?" he snapped.

"That's not it," Steve shot back.

"Then knock it off!" James stood up. "Are you coming or not?"

For a moment, James thought Steve might tell him to go fuck himself, but then Steve also stood. "Let's go."

His hackles still up, James turned and walked with Steve out of the building and down the streets in the direction of where James had left the jeep. James knew he was overreacting, but damn it, this was his life and he didn't need Steve Goddamn Rogers acting like he knew better than James did about anything.

The sourness in his stomach lurched up his esophagus until James tasted acid in the back of his mouth. Wishing that he had eaten something more substantial than a salad at home, James dropped his cup in a street-side garbage can and shoved his hand into his trouser pocket, his metal hand gripping the handle of his briefcase.

James didn't want to look at Steve, didn't want to know if the man thought James was a basket case or what. All the television shows James had ever watched had led James to believe that things would get _easier_ once he'd told someone about what happened to him at fifteen. But this wasn't easier. It hurt and worried and bit and James wished now with all his might that he hadn't told Steve, that he'd lied and blamed it all on the arm.

Because that was his life, where blaming his PTSD on his missing arm would have been the _easy_ way out.

"Fucking goddamn donkey cocksucker," James said under his breath, resisting the urge to kick a nearby fire hydrant.

"What?" Steve asked, a step behind James.

"Nothing." James stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light to change. Steve stood at his side, close but not touching, radiating warmth like a giant hot water bottle. Normally James would have reveled in the closeness, as close as he was ever going to get to touching Steve Rogers, but now it just made him angrier.

The light changed and humanity surged into the crosswalk. James walked faster, knowing that Steve would be able to keep up regardless. A few more blocks and they were at the jeep. James unlocked the doors and got in, tossing his briefcase haphazardly in the backseat before closing his door. Steve sat down more sedately, closing the door before reaching for his seatbelt. James knew he had to put his own seatbelt on before he started the jeep, but he just sat there, staring at the keys in his hand.

"Bucky, you okay?" Steve asked after a minute.

James ran his thumb over the car key's metal edge. "It wasn't my fault."

"What wasn't?"

"What happened back then," James said. The world was wavering around the edges, and he wondered if he was going to throw up again. "It wasn't my fault."

"Of course it wasn't."

James fumbled the key into the ignition but couldn't bring himself to turn on the jeep.

It wasn't his fault that his father had thrown him out of the house. It wasn't his fault that he'd fallen in love with someone who'd only been out to use him.

It wasn't his fault that his father died on that construction site without ever seeing him again.

"I was _fifteen_."

"I know." Steve's hand settled on James' upper arm, a gentle pressure through his suit jacket.

"Fuck." James gripped the steering wheel, trying to regain his bearings. " _Fuck_."

"You okay to drive?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, just give me a minute." James took a few deep breaths, trying to get the taste of acid out of his mouth. Steve didn't say anything, just kept holding James' arm until James was able to reach out to turn the key in the ignition. He pulled out into the street and off they went.

At the next stoplight, James turned to look at Steve. "All right. Fuck that shit. What exactly happens at Clint's archery class tomorrow?"

They drove through the afternoon rush hour towards FDR Drive, getting stuck on the Brooklyn Bridge for half an hour when an accident blocked one of the lanes. The time was instructive for James, however, who now knew that Clint needed to get to his archery class at least twenty minutes early so he could watch the end of the previous class, and that he needed to take his water bottle half-full of ice water just in case he got thirsty, and that he couldn't wear his glasses on the range so Steve had to hold them for when the class was done. Steve had nearly talked himself out by the time that James pulled the jeep up out front of the house. Putting the car in park and turning off the engine, James leaned forward to look out the windshield.

"Looks like someone's expecting you."

Steve looked in the direction James indicated. Against the house's front window was plastered Clint, his nose pressed against the window as he waved at the jeep. As they watched, Clint stuck his tongue out against the glass.

"Charming," James observed as he undid his seat belt.

Steve sighed. "You sure you're okay with having him over tomorrow night?"

"Of course I am." James got out of the jeep. "You okay with being away from him all night?"

"Nope." Steve slammed the door behind him. "Knowing he'll be here with you guys will make it easier, though."

"Come on," James said, slapping Steve on the back. "Let's go see what our kids have been doing all afternoon."

Steve's smile could have lit up the whole world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need an idea of what Bucky might look like in that suit: <http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/post/109630503298/sincerely-always-x>


	14. Bye Bye Blackbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Bye Bye Blackbird by Miles Davis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KV2lNHfSXBQ)

* * *

To James' utter lack of surprise, Clint hit the wall after his Friday archery lesson.

The boy had been cheerful and upbeat all through the day, helped in no small part by Skye's deliberately busy schedule of events. After Skye went home, Clint had still been excited, focused on his archery lesson, and had demonstrated a seriousness at the lesson itself that had impressed James (who waited on the sidelines with a bored Natasha).

But after the lesson, as James packed both children back into the jeep for the ride home, Clint folded in on himself. Natasha kept up the chattering from the backseat, filling the air with stories about what she wanted to do on this special Camp Out night, but Clint sat quiet in his seat, finger in his mouth and eyes downcast. James could only grit his teeth and drive as fast as possible.

At home, James divested Clint of his bow case and quiver, shutting the weapons neatly into the hall closet. Clint wandered over to the front window and sat on the window seat, staring gloomily out into the street below.

"Daddy?" Natasha said, tugging on James' right hand. "Clint is sad."

James led Natasha over to Clint's side, where she scrambled onto the seat beside her best friend. "It's understandable if Clint is a little glum," James said.

Clint turned to eye James suspiciously. "What's glum?" he demanded.

"It's when you're a little sad, and a little bummed out." James pushed aside the stack of books on the coffee table, and sat down to face the kids. "It's when you feel a little like this."

He then proceeded to sigh theatrically, making sad faces until even Clint was giggling at him.

"See?" James said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Everyone feels glum sometimes."

Clint pulled his glasses off, letting them dangle from the cord around his neck. "I miss my dad," he said, lower lip going out in a pout. "Every time after I shoot arrows, he and me go have spaghetti."

"I know," James said. "He told me."

"But we're going to have hot dogs for dinner," Natasha interjected immediately. She glared at her father. "You _said_ , when you do Camp Out, you have to have hot dogs."

"I did say that. Tonight is a special night, and we're going to have hot dogs. How does that sound?"

Clint let out a big sigh. "Okay, I guess."

"Just okay?"

"Yeah." Clint slumped back against the window. "When's my dad gonna come back?"

"He'll be here tomorrow morning." Seeing how depressed Clint looked at this, James cast about for ideas to distract the kids. "Certainly before eight."

"That's a long time," Natasha chimed in before Clint could respond. "How many times is that?"

"Too many," Clint said.

James wasn't sure how much more sadness he could stand on a Friday afternoon. If Steve had been there, or even Skye, they'd have been able to distract the kids into having a good time, but unfortunately for Natasha and Clint, they only had James.

Well, fine. He still had some tricks up his sleeve. Straightening his back, James clapped his hands together. "All right, atten _tion_!" he called in his best drill sergeant voice. The kids sat bolt upright, Clint's moping forgotten. "We need to set up camp, so everyone, on their feet!"

The kids bounced to their feet. Natasha giggled up at James while Clint stared at James with wide excited eyes.

"Do you know how to march?" James asked the kids. He received two nods. "All right, follow me, forward _march_!" James stood and strode in the direction of the stairs, tiny footsteps scampering after him. At the top of the stairs, Natasha dashed in front of James, through his open bedroom door to pounce on the neatly-made bed. Clint hesitated for just a moment before joining Natasha. "At ease," James said, relaxing his shoulders. "In preparation of a long night, we need to have adequate supplies, agreed?"

"Yes!" Natasha shouted.

"What supplies?" Clint asked.

James went into his closet. Up on top of the shelf, behind the folded blankets, he reached for a rusty metal toolbox. One of the blankets snagged on the toolbox and fell on James' face. This was the cause for much amusement by the children, and by the time James disentangled himself Natasha had collapsed from laughter.

"All right, all right," James said. He kicked the blanket out of the way as he carried the toolbox over to the bed. "Shove over."

He steadied the box with his prosthetic hand while opening the rusty latch with his right hand.

"This is dirty," Clint observed, peering into the box as James lifted the lid.

"That's not dirt, it's rust," James said. "This was my grandfather's toolbox."

"What's the difference?" Natasha asked, having recovered from her laughing fit.

"Dirty means you don't care," James told her. "Rust means it's just old."

Accepting this, Natasha joined Clint in looking into the box. "What's all that?" she asked, pointing at the jumble of objects.

"This is all stuff I don't use any more." James paused for a moment, looking into the box. Dim memories pushed at him, dull in their pain, no longer able to draw blood. "Most of this is stuff I had when I was in the army." Reaching into the toolbox, James pulled out the object he'd been looking for in the first place.

"That's a watch," Clint told James. "Grandpa Abraham has a watch. It tells you when you're late."

"It does indeed." James ran his thumb over the watch face. He'd been wearing the watch on his left wrist when the IED hit his squad's transport; weeks after the accident, when he was in a stateside military hospital, still too weak to take a piss by himself, he'd gotten a package from his company's field medic. The package, from Jim Morita, whom James had worked with for over six months on that deployment, contained the cleaned watch. Morita's accompanying note said that he'd found James' watch (leaving out the rather obvious fact that it still must have been on James' dismembered left wrist at the time) and sent it along as a keepsake, as he knew how much the watch meant to James.

Still doped up on opiates, James had written a reply letter in sloppy handwriting, thanking Morita for the watch and to tell him to keep an eye out for himself. He'd had one of the nurses post the letter for him, then he'd promptly thrown up and gone back to bed. When he was well enough to get out of the hospital, James had shoved the watch and everything else into his grandfather's toolbox, wishing he had the guts to throw it all out.

That had been over five years ago now, before he met Natasha.

With an effort, James pushed the memories back into their place in his head. "I've had this watch since I was seventeen," he said as he handed it to Clint. The boy took it carefully.

"Did you buy it?" Natasha asked.

"No, it was a gift. My father's friend gave it to me when I made the all-state track team in my senior year." The man had been James' father's business partner, engaged in a campaign to convince James' mother to sell off her half of the construction company after James' father's death. James hadn't minded the bribe; he sure as hell didn't want to go into the family business after high school, and it was a nice watch, not too showy, with a timer for James to use to time his laps on the track. "I thought you can use it to see what time it is, so you'll know when your dad is coming home."

Clint put his glasses on to examine the watch more closely. "What are those?" he asked, pointing at the watch's hands. "Why don't the numbers move?"

Of course. Clint had never learned to tell time off a clock-face. "This is how old people tell time," James said, moving around to show Clint the big and little hands, and to explain how they worked.

In the meantime, Natasha was rummaging through the toolbox. She pulled out a few of James' boxed medals, opening the cases before closing them again. Then she got hold of something and pulled, the silver glint of the dented dogtags catching the afternoon sun through the bedroom window. "Daddy, you have a necklace!" she squealed.

"Yes, I do." James had also been wearing these when the IED hit his transport; they'd been under his body armour and had escaped the worst of the attack. "Every soldier wears these when they're on patrol."

Natasha slung the chain around her neck, admiring the dogtags hanging against her belly. "J-A-M-E-S," she spelled out loud. "That's your name, Daddy. James."

"It sure is." James put the medal cases back in the toolbox and latched it shut again. He pushed the toolbox under his bed, giving it a firm shove to keep it out of sight, and stood. "How about we go down to the workshop and fix these things up?"

"What are we going to fix?" Natasha asked, immediately sliding off the bed.

"We can fix the watch band so it fits Clint's wrist," James said. "And that chain's too long for you to wear."

Clint took hold of James' metal hand, the watch firmly gripped in his other palm. Natasha eschewed James' hand, galloping off ahead on her own. "Where's your workshop?" Clint asked. "Uncle Tony has a workshop. With a robot!"

"No robots here," James said, guiding Clint down the stairs to the basement. Natasha was already waiting for them in the laundry room. "Just a little place where I can get some stuff done."

He went over to the far wall and opened the door to the small inner room he'd transformed into a workshop. Pulling on the cord descending from the room's single light bulb, the room's contents came into focus. Natasha just barged in like always, but Clint stood in the doorway, gazing with his mouth hanging open. "Wow," he said.

James sat on the stool by the workbench. "Who wants to go first?"

"I do," Natasha said. She took the chain off and handed it to James. "What are you going to do?"

"Well," James said, considering the assortment of hand tools arranged on hooks along the wall. "We need to make the chain shorter so you don't get tangled up."

He reached for the wire cutters, set them on the bench, then quickly popped the end of the chain out of its hook. Holding the chain in his left hand, he made a quick _snip_ with the wire cutters, removing a third of the chain's length, then popped the end of the chain back in its holding. The entire operation had taken less than thirty seconds, but Natasha looked deeply impressed as she put the chain back over her head.

James set the wire cutters back on their hook. "Come on, Clint, your turn."

Clint advanced into the small room. "Are you going to cut it?" the boy asked, handing over the watch.

"Nope." James laid the watch flat on the workbench. "This watch wasn't designed for a little boy to wear. I need to punch a new hole in the strap."

"For _me_?" Clint asked, astonished.

"Of course for you," James said as he retrieved two spring clamps from a cubby. "No other little boys around here that I know about."

"Only old little boys wear a watch," Natasha said, looking at Clint with envy. "Only old little boys with _jobs_."

James, who was fresh out of timepieces at this point, bit his tongue on asking Natasha if she'd wanted the watch. He had committed himself, and his daughter didn't appear upset that he was giving Clint the watch. He'd ask her another day if she wanted a watch for her birthday.

"My dad doesn't wear a watch," Clint said, hardly breathing as he watched James clamp the watch straps to the workbench. "He has the time on his phone."

"Same here," James said. He plucked the awl from its high spot on the wall, then made sure the children were standing back before he pressed the sharp implement through the leather watch strap. He put the tool away before he unclamped the watch, and helped Clint try it on his wrist.

The watch face, which had been of average size on a grown man's wrist, was huge against the slender bones of Clint's arm. But the adoring glow on Clint's face told James that the boy didn't mind. Putting the clamps back in their place, James shooed the children back into the laundry room and closed the door behind him.

"Now what do we do?" Natasha asked, still admiring the dogtags around her neck.

James knelt, and they all looked at the watch on Clint's wrist. "Now, it's almost six o'clock," James said, indicating the watch's little hand pointing at the six. "We should get dinner started before we set up camp for the night. What do you say?"

"I say, hot dogs!" Natasha shouted, punching the air. Clint nodded in agreement, and then both children were running out of the room and up the stairs. James held back long enough to fasten the bolt at the top of the workshop door, in case Clint or Natasha wanted to look at the sharp tools without telling an adult, then up he went to the kitchen.

James convinced the children to go clean up the living room while he started the charcoal in the backyard barbeque. Then it was back inside, where James found the kids sprawled on the living room couch, each staring at their new treasures.

He went to his office, retrieved the box he'd carefully hidden after his shopping trip that morning, and went back to the living room. "All right, now," James said, sinking into the arm chair. "Do you guys know the most important rule for Camp Out?"

"No," Natasha said. Clint shook his head.

"You need to be properly equipped." James reached into the box and handed over two gift bags, one for each child. "Look in there."

Clint dove into his bag, while Natasha upended hers on the carpet. There were a few moments of excited shrieking as the children looked at their presents.

"Look, Daddy!" Natasha screeched, holding up her new red flashlight. "It's _red_!"

"It sure is," James said, ruefully remembering the search through three stores to find flashlights in just the right colors for the kids.

"Mine is purple!" Clint crowed, holding his flashlight aloft.

Cradling her flashlight, Natasha next picked up the little metal cup by its handle. "What's this for?"

"These are special camping hot chocolate cups," James said. "They won't break if you drop them, and you can make hot chocolate in them."

"Mmm," said Clint, patting his belly. "I like hot chocolate."

"Me too," Natasha said, and promptly stuck her flashlight in the cup. "Can we have hot chocolate now?"

"Nope, after dinner," James said. "What else do you have there?"

The children examined the rest of the items (Clint's favourite was the tiny first-aid kit, while Natasha liked the little reflective stickers) until it was time to cook the hot dogs. The sun was still high in the sky over Brooklyn as James drew the kids near to watch the hot dogs sizzling on the grill, and the only thing that could have made the day perfect would have been if Steve was there to share it with them.

They ate sitting on the deck. Natasha finished a whole hot dog, and Clint tried valiantly to eat a second hot dog but failed after two bites (James ate the rest for him). Then Natasha asked, "What did you eat when you were in the Army?"

This led to a long discussion about the food in basic training and then while James was deployed. It was, oddly, easier to talk about his time in the Army with the children than it would have been with Steve, as the children didn't look for hidden meaning in what James was saying (or rather not saying). Clint in particular was fascinated with James' descriptions of life as a Ranger.

"Can _I_ be an army guy?" Clint asked as they carried their plates into the kitchen.

"Well," James said, wondering what Steve might make of this conversation. "You could try, when you're eighteen. But there's all sorts of things you can do when you're grown-up, and you don't have to decide right now."

One thing James knew for certain, he wasn't going to tell Clint that his vision and hearing problems might prevent him from a career in the military. The boy didn't need to hear that tonight.

"Can I shoot arrows in the army?" Clint asked as he climbed the footstool to rinse his plate.

"The US Army doesn't have an archer division," James hedged, turning on the sink taps.

Clint frowned. "Then I don't wanna do it. I wanna grow up and shoot arrows and have a dog and ride a roller coaster every weekend."

"That's a good plan." James opened the dishwasher so the children could load their own dishes. "You could be in the Olympics. Or you could go into the movie business and be a stunt man."

"What's that?" Natasha asked, shoving her plate off-kilter into the dishwasher rack.

James started to reach for the plate to straighten it, then made himself stop. It would get clean just fine. "A stunt man is when the movie people have to hire someone who has a really special skill, to make the movie better."

Clint considered this. "Okay, I do that," he declared after a moment. "Then I can shoot arrows _all day_."

"Not bad," James said. When he was five, he was pretty sure he wanted to be a dinosaur when he grew up. "What about you, Nat?"

"When I grow up," Natasha said, "I am going to fix things, like you, Daddy." With a brilliant grin in his direction, Natasha took off toward the living room, Clint hard on her heels.

Smiling to himself, James closed the dishwasher door before heading back outside to make sure that the charcoal was no danger as it burned itself out.

* * *

The evening progressed. With James' help, the children set up a 'tent' in the living room (a sheet thrown over a rope tied from the bookcase on one side and the curtain rail on the other) then proceeded to make their very own child-sized bedrolls. Clint had a blast folding his sheet and blanket and rolling it up, but Natasha got frustrated when her blanket didn't fold straight. James had to jump in to prevent a melt-down, and soon enough, Natasha stood up, dusted off her hands, and declared their camp site in order.

"You need your stuffed animals," James pointed out. "Go get them and then we can start on a craft."

Natasha bolted for the stairs, while Clint retrieved Floppy from his place of honour on top of the television. "James," Clint said as he hugged the stuffed toy. "When is my dad coming home?"

"Tomorrow morning," James said again.

"When's that?" Clint demanded, holding out his wrist.

James made a show of checking the watch. "When the little hand goes all the way around again, and it's on the seven."

Clint pouted at the watch. "Can he come home _now_?"

"No, because he's working." James took Floppy from the boy and placed the toy on Clint's bedroll. "That's the hard part about being a dad. Sometimes you have to go to work and can't spend time with your kids."

Clint flopped down on the ground, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's not fair," he groused. "My mommy is _always_ away because she works."

Of all the things James was not going to discuss with Clint, Sharon Carter's absence in his life was at the top of the list. "You know your dad will be here in the morning," James said instead. "And you can tell him all the fun things you did tonight."

"I guess."

Natasha came tearing back down the stairs, her arms overloaded with stuffed animals. "Nat, why do you have all these?" James asked. "You're only going to be down here for one night."

"They'll get lonely," Natasha informed him as she set Bear and Dr. Snapples alongside her two identical stuffed penguins, Tick and Tock. "This way, no one gets lonely!"

Clint crawled over to pat Tock on the head. "You have nice toys," he said. "These are birds."

"All right," James said. "I'm going to get the craft started outside before it gets too dark. Who's with me?"

Both children jumped up to accompany James. Outside, in the slant of the evening sun, James set the children up with their painting smocks before bringing out the lengths of wooden doweling he'd gotten earlier that day at the hardware store.

"What are these?" Natasha asked, picking up two of the wood pieces.

"We're going to make wind chimes," James told them. "We're going to paint these, then they can dry overnight and tomorrow we'll finish them up, okay?"

After a chorus of, "Okay!" James set out the paints, handed over the brushes, and let the children loose.

One of the things he would never cease to marvel at, James reflected, was how Clint and Natasha could entertain themselves for such long stretches of time. As he hovered in the background to make sure that there were no paint spillages or hurt feelings, James listened to the children go back and forth with things they wanted to do when they were older. After a few minutes, this morphed into Clint telling Natasha a story about climbing a tree at his grandfather's house. Then Natasha chimed in with a story about how she had pretended to be a cat one day, all the while painting stripes on her wooden sticks.

Knowing enough to keep out of things, James eventually sat on the step to watch the children. Again, he wished Steve was there to be a part of this. Maybe that's what things would be like when they went to the Hamptons in a few weeks; the grown-ups sitting back, while the kids played and laughed and had a great time with each other.

But of course, because James was James, he couldn't get rid of the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something would go wrong, that he would somehow mess things up. He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to reason with himself. All he could do, at the end of the day, was to keep the kids safe and to keep his own emotions in check. So what if he had a crush on Steve? It didn't matter, because Steve was straight.

And the fact that Steve was still James' best friend, even after so many years… well that was more than a man could hope for. That was going to have to be enough for James.

Being in love with his best friend wasn't the end of the world.

* * *

After the sun set and the paints were packed away, James got the children inside and into their pyjamas before it was time for hot chocolate and stories. He'd contemplated making s'mores for the kids, but the idea of putting that much sugar into the children before bed had scared even a seasoned Ranger like himself.

As the children drank their hot chocolate in their new cups, James read to the children from one of Skye's books. This one featured a family of children growing up in nineteenth-century Canada, which James thought was both dull and random, but Natasha and Clint drank it up. They managed four chapters before the kids started to fade, so James ended things there and herded the two sleepyheads up to wash their faces and brush their teeth.

Then it was back downstairs and into their bedrolls while James read bedtime stories. Natasha, tucked in amongst her stuffed animals, fell asleep in the middle of the fourth story, but Clint was still wide awake, clutching at Floppy.

James finished the story for the boy, then put the book aside. "Can you try to get some sleep?" James asked.

"I guess so," Clint said as he took off his glasses, then held out his wrist to James. James unbuckled the watch and handed it back. Clint set the watch next to his glasses and his flashlight. "I miss my dad."

"I know." James waited until Clint snuggled down in his bedroll before pulling the sheet up over the boy's shoulders. "He misses you too."

"How'd you know?" Clint asked, squinting at James in the dim light.

"Because that's what dads do. Now, sleep tight."

"Okay, I try." And Clint hugged Floppy tight and closed his eyes, leaving James to stand as quietly as possible and sneak away.

It was just past ten, but James was exhausted. He quietly finished cleaning up the kitchen, then poured himself a glass of water and carried it outside to sit on the back step. Night had fallen over Brooklyn, and the city's lights blocked all but the brightest stars in the sky.

Back when he was in training, and then while he was deployed, James had often marvelled at the night sky. But Natasha, who had lived in New York her whole life, had never seen the sky overhead. Maybe, when they were in the Hamptons, James could wake her up one night to go look at the sky.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, James saw a text from Steve, _hows everything going???_

James typed back, _kids asleep. long day only few tears_

_You or them?_

_ur funny_ , James responded. _Clint miss u lots_

_I miss him. This party blows but it's a living._

_now i cry for u looser_

_:P,_ then _I may be done here around 4. Can I come by that early?_

_ya txt me first tho_

_Thanks again Bucky this means a lot to me_

James stared at his phone. There was so much he wanted to say, but knew he never could – that he'd do anything for Steve. He settled for, _hey anyting fr clint :)_

That ended the conversation, leaving James to go back to sipping his water and contemplating the sky, until his own exhaustion drove him back inside.

* * *

In the dead of night, a flash of light woke James from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes, remembering distantly that he was on the downstairs couch in case the kids needed him.

The light that had caught his attention was from Clint's flashlight. As James watched, the little boy sat up in his blankets, shining the flashlight around until the beam landed on the watch.

James thought about asking the boy if he needed help, but something in Clint's manner made him keep still.

Clint donned his glasses, then reached for the watch. He looked at the watch face intently for a few moments, then James heard him counting quietly.

A tiny sniffle, then another. The sound pulled at James' heartstrings, but he gritted his teeth and told himself not to get up until Clint did first.

Clint carefully put down the watch, then took off his glasses and returned them to the place by his pillow. Then the boy lay back down and turned off his flashlight.

In the ensuing darkness, James heard Clint say, "Daddy's not home yet, Floppy. But he will be." A few more sniffles ensued before Clint went silent.

James strained to hear in the darkness, if Clint would start to cry, but there were only a few snuffling noises before the house fell silent once again.

After ten long minutes of stillness, James closed his eyes. Clint was not the only one who hoped that Steve would come home soon.

* * *

A text message woke James while it was still dark out. Blinking, James sat up. The children were still and silent under their tent on the living room floor

_I'm going to be there in 5 minutes_.

With a yawn, James stood and shuffled over to the front door. He deactivated the house alarm and pulled open the inner door, the outer door, then, leaving the doors open behind him, sat on the stoop.

The dark sky was lightening in the distance, faint pinks and reds heralding a New York sunrise. James sat and waited, yawning occasionally as the odd early morning vehicle zipped past. At a few minutes past five, the streets were relatively empty of pedestrians. As James waited, a jogger ran lightly past, then a woman in nursing scrubs trudged in the other direction, her head down.

James remembered when Natasha was a baby, and he was still trying to follow all the advice about putting her to bed at seven. This, of course, got her up at five, and it took James a few months to realize that if Natasha went to bed later, she'd get up later, and he could get some sleep of his own.

He really didn't miss being up this early.

A taxi pulled up in front of the house, and Steve got out of the backseat. With a wave at the driver, he trudged up the walk, his head and shoulders drooping with exhaustion. Even so, an exhausted Steve Rogers in a tailored tuxedo was a sight to behold, and James' stomach gave a little jump as Steve lifted his head.

"Hey," was all Steve said, but the word made James' heart beat just a little faster.

"Hey," James said back. "The kids are still sleeping."

At the top of the steps, Steve dropped his sports bag, so incongruous with the tuxedo, before sitting down beside James, so close that his arm brushed James' side. "That was one hell of a night," he said, resting his elbows on his knees.

In the soft light from the street lamps, Steve looked even more handsome than usual. James swallowed with an effort. "Any more of these long nights anytime soon?"

"Nah, I told Tony that the next time he had a party like this, he could count me out." Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "You know, this is the first time I've ever been away from Clint all night."

"He handled it okay," James said. "I've never been away from Natasha overnight. Don't know how I'd handle that."

"It's probably worse for us than it is for them," Steve said. He turned to blink at James. "Were you serious about keeping an eye on Clint this morning?"

James punched Steve lightly on the arm. "Of course I was. Go upstairs, use the guest room, get some sleep. I'll hold down the fort until you're up."

Steve's tired smile was the best thing James had ever seen. "You're a lifesaver, Bucky," Steve said as he stood. "Come on, let's go in."

James took Steve's offered hand, and they went back into the house. James reactivated the house alarm while Steve tiptoed across the living room. He stood staring down at the sleeping children for a minute, then turned to James at his side.

"You're the best friend a guy could have," Steve said, and the next thing James knew, Steve was hugging him.

James' higher brain functions shorted out, but his body knew what to do; arm up and around Steve's back, chest pressed against Steve, and his hips tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, in case his body's reaction to Steve's closeness betrayed his true feelings.

That did not come to pass; Steve just gave James a squeeze (nearly choking James with the strength of the embrace) then let go. "I should go get some sleep," Steve said, and it must have been a trick of the light because James thought he saw Steve blushing. "See you in a few hours, okay?"

"We'll keep the noise down," James promised, his heart still pounding.

Steve clapped James on the back, then carried his sports bag up the stairs, leaving James standing in the living room, wide awake.

Steve Rogers had _hugged_ him.

Giving up entirely on the idea of sleep, James headed into his office to get some work done. So what if he knew Steve only saw him as a friend? James was human enough to take what he could get.

* * *

The shuffling of bare feet drew James' attention away from his notepad. Clint stood in the doorway to his office, Floppy tucked under one arm. "Morning, Clint."

Clint held out the watch to James. "The little hand's on the seven," Clint said accusingly. "But my dad's not _here_."

James hurried over to shush the boy. "Clint, your dad's upstairs sleeping," James said as he knelt down. "Okay? He got here while you were still sleeping and he went up to have a nap."

Clint blinked at James. "Really?"

"Really." James got Clint to hold the watch on his wrist, then quickly buckled the strap one-handed. "Do you want to go see him?"

Clint nodded vigorously. He tucked Floppy under his arm and held the other hand out to James. Together, they went up the stairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom's open door. Gesturing for Clint to be quiet, James peeked into the room. Steve was sleeping on the bed, sheet kicked down to his waist. The tuxedo hung from a clothes hanger off the closet door, and Steve had changed into another one of his skin-tight t-shirts and sweatpants.

"That's my dad," Clint whispered to James. "He's sleeping."

"Yup," James whispered back. "Let's let him sleep."

Clint pulled Floppy out from under his arm, laid a big kiss on the dog's nose, then tiptoed into the room to put the toy beside Steve's hand. He tiptoed out of the room again without waking Steve, and James pulled the door closed behind him.

"That was a nice thing to do," James said, taking Clint by the hand to head back downstairs.

"Sometimes, when I go to sleep, I forget Floppy," Clint said, hopping a little as he walked beside James. "When I do, Daddy gives him a big kiss and then brings him to me so I won't be sad when I wake up."

"That's a very nice thing to do." James stopped Clint at the bottom of the stairs and knelt down so the boy could hear his whisper. "How about you go get your glasses and your hearing aid, and then come into the kitchen. We don't want to wake Natasha either."

Clint nodded, and tore across the living room to his bedroll. Sure enough, he was silent as a mouse, and Natasha did not wake.

Then James and Clint headed into the kitchen, where James made a pot of coffee and Clint sipped on a small milk carton, and Clint talked about his dream (there had been dinosaurs that _flew_ ) and what he wanted to do that day (the park, and playing in the sprinkler, and maybe watch a movie and eat popcorn), while James made encouraging noises and kept an ear out for Natasha.

After about half an hour, there was a thud from the living room, and the plaintive call, "Where did everybody go?"

"We're in the kitchen," James called as loud as he dared.

In rushed Natasha, her hair every which way. "You're having fun!" she said accusingly, running over to James. "Without me!"

James knelt down. "You were sleeping," he pointed out. "Can you say good morning to me and Clint?"

"Good morning," Natasha said, letting herself be drawn into a hug from her father. "Next time, you wake me up so I can have fun too."

Natasha walked over to Clint and gave him a hug. James had his phone out and took a picture of the cuteness without either child realizing what he was doing. "Good morning," Clint said, releasing Natasha to pat her on the head. "My daddy came home."

"My daddy's right here," Natasha said. "I want a milk."

"Nat, what do we say?"

" _Please_?"

James took the children out onto the back deck, and they sat and talked about the day until Natasha remembered the offer of post-Camp-Out pancakes. Wanting to keep the children occupied until Steve woke up, James suggested that the kids make pancake by themselves, with James supervising.

This suggestion went over extremely well, if a bit messily.

After breakfast, James helped the kids tidy up their camp site, with both Natasha and Clint demanding that they keep the 'tent' up until Monday so they could show Skye. After everyone was dressed and brushed, he herded them back outside so they could finish their wind chimes.

This part of the project took a while, not the least of which involved James needing to drill holes through the wooden doweling, which meant he had to transport half his workshop outside. Clint and Natasha were both very good about staying away from the drill, after James demonstrated how fast the drill bit could make a hole.

The drilling was completed and Clint and Natasha were tying their 'chimes' to the flat wooden slats James had grabbed from the hobby corner of the store, when the back door opened and a freshly showered Steve Rogers came out.

"Hi Daddy!" Clint yelled.

"Hi Steve!" Natasha added.

"Hey everyone," Steve said warmly. He put his hand on James' shoulder as he passed, sending James' heart rate spiralling. Damn it, James needed to get control of himself. "What are you doing?"

"Making wind chimes!" Clint exclaimed. "I painted these myself!"

"And I painted this!" Natasha put in, holding up one of her doweling pieces. "Did you ever make wind chimes?"

"I don't think so," Steve said as he settled down on the deck between the children. He ran his hand over Clint's hair. "That's a nice-looking watch you got there, buddy."

Clint held up his wrist. "James gave it to me!" he said, beaming.

A tiny frown creased Steve's forehead. Before the man could open his mouth, James interjected with, "It's a gift. For Clint. A kid can always use a watch."

Steve looked at James for a long moment, then reached for Clint's wrist to take a closer look at the watch. "This is a really nice gift," he said. "Clint, did you thank Bucky?"

"Nope." Clint jumped to his feet and ran the three steps to James, falling over his shoulder to give his neck a squeeze. "Thank _you_!"

James returned the hug. "You're very welcome."

Then Natasha climbed to her feet and hurried over. "Why is everyone getting hugs?" she wondered as she leaned against James' other shoulder. "I want a hugs."

James put his other arm around Natasha and squeezed both children tight, sending them into giggle fits. "All right," he said as he released them. "Are the wind chimes ready to go up?"

"Yes!" Natasha yelled as Clint dashed over to his craft.

"Where are you going to put them?" Steve asked.

Natasha pointed at the tree by the garden boxes. "So we can see them when we play in the garden," she said.

Steve looked at James then, a wide smile creasing his face. "Sounds like you two had a lot of fun while I was away."

"Yes," Clint said. "But you don't get to do it again."

Steve nodded at this. "So, what are we going to do after you finish hanging your chimes?"

"I get to clean up wood shavings," James said. "You get to pack the kiddos up for a trip to the park."

"Is that so?" Steve said, but he was smiling.

"Uh huh," Natasha said. "We have _plans_. We go to the park, then we have lunch, then we play in the sprinkler, then we have dinner, then we watch a movie, then we have hot chocolate."

"That sounds like an excellent day," Steve said before James could ask Natasha what she was talking about.

"It is," Natasha agreed, looking up to give Steve the stink-eye. "And you have to come and do it all with us because you left Clint alone last night and he was sad."

Upon hearing this, Clint arranged his features into an appropriately devastated expression. James rolled his eyes at the blatant emotional manipulation from two kindergarteners, but Steve just said, "You know, spending all day with the three of you would be the best day I can think of."

"And hot chocolate," Natasha pressed.

"We will have hot chocolate tonight," James said. "Now come on, we're almost done."

After hanging the completed wind chimes from the tree, James got the kids ready for the park while Steve grabbed something to eat. At the front door, Steve took the children by the hand and off they went, James bringing up the rear with the supplies, which gave James a few minutes to catch his own thoughts.

Also, this position let him watch Steve's butt without being observed.

The park was a hit. Clint and Natasha ran all over, burning off the energy from a long night and morning, while Steve and James walked around as Steve described his night and the party and the politics involved in high-stakes philanthropy. James was content to listen, feeling himself relax after a long night of solo parenting.

On the way back to the house, Steve asked if it was okay if he and Clint hung out for the planned afternoon of adventure, and of course James said it was, and then somehow James found himself inviting Steve and Clint to stay over another night for a second night of Camp Out and Steve said yes.

Actually, he said, "Yes, of course, we'd love to," and smiled so brightly that James nearly tripped on a crack in the pavement, which set the children off into gales of laughter.

Be careful, James warned himself as they headed home. Steve was his best friend, and he would not do anything to ruin that.

Nothing in the world.

* * *

The weekend was so enjoyable, with Steve and Clint around the house, that James should have known that Monday would bring disaster.

Skye, Clint, Natasha and James were just finishing lunch when James' phone rang. Seeing Steve's face on the call display, James picked up his phone with, "Hey."

"Are you at the house?" Steve said, with such agitation in his voice that James went still, adrenaline kicking in.

"Yes," James said, making himself stand up with his normal speed. The children didn't notice anything amiss, but Skye must have caught something for she was looking at him carefully. "All of us, yeah. Why?"

"It's Sharon," Steve said, and James' heart dropped. If something had happened to Sharon… what was he going to tell Clint? But then Steve continued, "She called and said she has to see Clint, today, like now, and I didn't even know she was in the _country_. What the hell am I going to do?"

James locked eyes with Skye. "That's a good question," he said vaguely, indicating with his head that he was going to take the call in the other room. Skye nodded and pulled her chair closer to the children, saying something to distract them as James made his escape. "What did you tell her?"

"Your address," Steve said helplessly, and James swore under his breath. "What? What the hell else was I supposed to do?"

James bit down on the number of comments that sprang to his mind, none of them particularly helpful at this point. "Is she coming here?" he asked, striding into the living room to look out the front window. "Now?"

"She said she was," Steve said. "I'm up in Yonkers for a meeting, I'll get there as fast as I can, but—"

"Do you think she's going to try to take Clint?" James asked, scanning the street.

"What?" Steve exploded. "No, of course not, I've got custody, she can't just—"

"Can't doesn't mean won't try," James said. The street was clear of blondes, so he went over to check the alarm. "I'm not letting her leave here with Clint. Do you want me to stop her from seeing him?"

"Damn it," Steve said. "I just… I don't know."

"Yes, you do," James snapped. "Or else the first thing you'd've said was, 'don't let Sharon see Clint'."

On the other end of the line, Steve heaved a huge breath. "I don't want to stop her from seeing her son," he said after a moment. "But… this is out of nowhere, Bucky, I don't know what's going on."

"Then here's what we do," James said firmly. "She comes here, she asks to see Clint, she sees him. But she ain't leaving this house with him."

"Thank you," Steve said with feeling. "I'll get there as fast as I can."

"Drive careful," was all James could say before the line went dead. Growling, James shoved his phone into his pocket went back to the kitchen.

He filled Skye in on the latest developments. She looked confused, then determined. "I'll keep them busy coloring until she gets here," Skye said. "Do you know why now?"

"I know shi—squat," James amended, conscious that Natasha was staring at him from across the room. "I don't know. And I don't like it."

"How long has it been since Clint's seen her?" Skye asked quietly, putting her back to the children.

"Over a year." James shook his head. "Some early birthday present, huh?"

Skye winced.

Leaving the lunch dishes on the table, James told the children to go clean up and brush their hair. In the five minutes that gave them, he and Skye cleaned up the living room as much as they could. It still bore the obvious signs of childhood occupation, but at least the make-shift tent was down, the crayons were no longer scattered over the rug, the playing cards shoved under the couch.

The children stormed back in, full of energy, and were obviously disappointed when James told them that they had to stay inside instead of going out to the park as they had been promised. "But Daddy," Natasha scolded. "You _said_."

"And you will go to the park later," James said, a little short with his daughter. "Now, go blow your nose. Clint, tuck your shirt in. Wait, why is there jam on your elbow?"

By the time the children were presentable, everyone was grumpy. It took Skye almost five minutes to coax the children to color, and even so, Natasha kept casting dark glares in James' direction. James was too busy watching for impending disaster to pay her much mind.

After another ten minutes, James spotted a dark blue sedan approaching down the street. It pulled into a space across the road, and out stepped a blonde woman with a familiar face. Sharon Carter, Clint's mother, Steve's ex, crossed the road with a quick stride on her way to the house.

James headed for the front door, slipping outside before the children could notice him. He met Sharon on the top step. He had always known she was a very beautiful woman, from looking at the pictures Clint so prized, but now, seeing her in the full light of day in her smart pantsuit and her sensible shoes, James was suddenly struck that the woman was upset and trying not to show it.

"Uh, hi," he said, standing in front of the door. "I'm James Barnes."

Sharon took a deep breath as she pushed back her hair. "Sharon Carter," she said, making herself smile. It was not convincing. "I know this is really short notice, and I'm not sure what Steve told you—"

"That you need to see Clint right away," James supplied.

"Right." Sharon looked up at James. "I need to be at the airport soon, I just… I couldn't leave New York without seeing Clint. I just need a few minutes."

All James' preconceived animosity towards this woman bled away as he looked at her. "Yeah, okay," he said as he stood aside. "I didn't tell him you were coming, I didn't know…"

"Yeah," she said. "Okay, let's do this." She let James show her into the house, closing the door behind herself. The children's voices were clear in the entryway, loud and happy, and for the first time, James saw Sharon falter. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she held still for a moment, then stepped forward into the living room.

The children didn't notice her at first, but Skye lifted her head, then Natasha looked, and finally, Clint turned around and froze, eyes huge behind his glasses.

Sharon smiled again, and said, "Hi, Clint," and then the boy was moving, running to his mother as fast as his little legs could carry him. Sharon bent down to scoop him up into a hug, collapsing to her knees as Clint crashed into her.

"Mommy!" Clint yelled, wrapping his arms around her neck as if he would never let her go. "You're here, Mommy!"

Sharon cupped the back of Clint's head with her hand. "Oh, Clint," she said in a soft voice. "Oh, my big boy."

Clint pulled back to stare at his mother in open-mouthed amazement. "Mommy, you're here!" he said again.

"I sure am," Sharon said, and now that James could see her face, he felt even more confused than before.

Sharon looked as though her heart were breaking.

"I missed you!" Clint said loudly, then hugged her again. As Sharon rocked him back and forth, Natasha edged around them to hurry to James' side and clutch his hand. Skye stood and casually moved to stand between Sharon and the exit. "I missed you _every day_!"

Sharon pressed a kiss to Clint's cheek. "I missed you every day too," she said, and the tears caught in her throat. "Each and every day."

"Me too," Clint breathed, and then he smiled at Sharon as if she held the sun and stars. "I got glasses. I can read now."

"They are very nice glasses," Sharon said. "You look very grown up."

"I'm going to be six soon," Clint told her.

"I know," Sharon replied. "And you've grown so big." She got to her feet, lifting Clint without effort, and James distantly wondered if she worked out as much as Steve did. "You know," she said as she sat on the couch, and Clint wiggled around in her lap, never taking his eyes off her face, "Clint, I can only stay for a little while."

The excitement vanished from Clint's face. "No," he whispered. "You have to stay forever."

Sharon brushed the hair back from Clint's forehead. "I have to be at the airport soon," she said, and Clint began to tear up. "Shh, don't cry, we have a few good minutes and you can tell me all that you've been doing since I last saw you, and then I'll see you again soon."

As Clint tried to take in this devastating news, James move forward, dragging Natasha with him. "Clint has been doing super great at reading this summer," James said. "And he's really great at telling stories."

Natasha, seeing that she could not get rid of Sharon by merely glaring at her, stepped in front of James and crossed her arms over her chest. "Clint's my best friend!" she declared hotly. "We're gonna go to Disneyland together!"

"This is Natasha," Skye interrupted, before Natasha could express further her wrath. "I'm Skye, I'm the children's tutor this summer."

"Skye's teaching me to read," Clint said, sniffling as he gripped Sharon's shirt. "And she doesn't think I'm dumb."

"That's because you're not dumb," Sharon said firmly, rubbing Clint's back. "You are very smart and very brave and very wonderful, and I love you very, very much."

"I love you, Mommy," Clint whispered, pressing his forehead against her neck.

Mostly to ward off Clint's complete breakdown, James suggested that Clint show Sharon all the fun things he had made that summer, and so everyone trouped into the kitchen to see the art wall, then out to the backyard to see the wind chimes in the tree and the garden boxes. Clint held Sharon's hand with both of his, hardly taking his eyes off her.

Meanwhile, Natasha glared daggers at the woman, and James could feel a migraine developing behind his eyes. Skye stayed between Sharon and the easiest accessible exit at all times.

Once they were back in the living room, Sharon lifted Clint up onto the couch and knelt in front of him. "Clint, I have to go now," she said. She was trying very hard to keep her voice steady, but James had heard that exact tone too many times in his life. It was the voice of someone who thought they might be saying goodbye for the very last time. "You'll be a good boy for your dad, won't you?"

"I want to go with you," Clint whispered, gripping Sharon's fingers tight.

Sharon blinked back tears as she ran her hand over Clint's head. "Your daddy needs you here," she said.

"I don't want you to go away," Clint said. "You just came back."

"And I will come back again." Sharon leaned in for another hug, and Clint clung to her, his little fingers pulling up her suit jacket. Natasha was with Skye on the other side of the room, so only James saw the handgun holstered at the small of Sharon's back.

He went still, all his remaining assumptions about Sharon disintegrating at the sight of that pistol. But he kept his thoughts off his face; Clint would gain nothing by James turning on Sharon now.

Sharon disentangled herself from Clint's grip and was trying to move toward the door, but Clint kept following her. James moved bodily between Clint and his mother. "Hey, peanut, how about we go to the window so you can wave goodbye?"

"I don't want to!" Clint said, voice nearing a wail.

"One last hug, and your mom has to leave," James said. "She has a plane to catch, and the airport's a long way away."

It wasn't, really, but the words did succeed in getting Clint to loosen his hold on Sharon's pant leg. The woman bent down for one more hug, and with a final kiss on Clint's cheek, she said "I love you lots."

"I love you lots-er," Clint echoed.

Sharon stood up. Her eyes were dry, but James wasn't fooled. He had seen that expression on far too many soldiers saying goodbye to their families and friends. She cleared her throat as she took an envelope from her inner pocket, handing it to James. "Can you give this to Steve?" she asked. At his nod, she turned her attention back to Clint. "Goodbye, Clint."

"Bye-bye," Clint whispered, trying to go for Sharon again but James held him back. Skye was the one to show Sharon out the door. When the woman was out of sight, Clint tore away from James and ran to the front window, where he plastered himself to the glass and waved with all his might.

Skye closed the door and let out a sigh. "Do you think…" she started, but James waved her silent. She instead picked up Natasha, who had been uncharacteristically silent, and together she and James moved toward the window.

Sharon was now getting into her car. She blew a kiss at the window, waving at Clint one last time, and then she drove off and around the corner.

Silence fell in the house. Clint stayed by the window for a minute, breathing hard.

The stillness was interrupted by Natasha, who chirruped from Skye's arms, "Now what do we do?"

This got Clint moving. He turned slowly away from the window and, head down, shuffled over to the coffee table where he had been coloring before Sharon arrived. Slowly, he picked up a crayon and moved it vaguely over the paper, as two huge tears rolled down his cheeks and hit the paper.

James swore to himself as he sat down on the couch. "Skye, you think you and Nat can go make some tea?" he suggested. "Maybe something with honey in it?"

"Yeah, good idea," Skye said, and hurried Natasha into the kitchen with the speed of someone escaping a storm.

"Clint," James said firmly. "Clint, can you come over here?"

Clint abandoned his crayon, walking over to James. His breathing was hitching in his throat now, tears still streaming down his face. He barely seemed to notice as James lifted him up to his knee.

There was nothing James could do to fix this, he knew. So he just took Clint's glasses off and set them aside. There was a pause, as Clint drew a deep breath, deeper and deeper down to his toes, then he let out a heartbroken wail.

James gathered Clint up, letting the boy cry. When James had been a child, his father had always told him that boys didn't cry, to suck it up, act like a man, but there had not been a single time in James' life where that had solved anything. To five-year-old Clint, having his mother come back into his life for less than half an hour to only vanish once more must feel as if his world was ending.

So James just sat there, holding Clint as the boy sobbed onto James' shoulder. In the kitchen, James could hear Natasha in conversation with Skye, and he hoped that the woman was somehow explaining this whole mess to his daughter. The last thing Clint needed was Natasha going off on a well-meaning but misdirected tangent.

After a few minutes, Clint sat back. He gave a mighty sniffle, saying, "My mommy's gone away!"

"I know," James said, and that set Clint off again. James patted Clint's back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering where the hell Steve was.

* * *

When Steve finally arrived, the house had settled down.

"Where is she?" Steve demanded as James let him in the front door.

"Gone." James closed the door and went back to the couch. "Keep your voice down, Clint's still sleeping."

"Why's he sleeping?" Steve asked, looking both angry and concerned. "Is he okay?"

"No, he's not okay," James snapped. "You try crying your eyes out for twenty minutes, see how you feel. He's down for a nap in my office."

Steve dropped to the couch beside James. "How could she do this?" he asked, pushing his hair back with his hands. "How could she just waltz back into our lives for ten minutes and then _leave_ again?"

"She didn't say where she was going?" James asked. Steve shook his head. "Maybe she had a reason."

"What possible reason?" Steve demanded. Angrily, he unbuttoned his suit jacket to throw over the couch arm. "Why didn't she just leave, instead of coming over here to mess with Clint's head?"

"Wouldn't you?" James asked sharply, and that threw Steve for enough of a loop that the man closed his mouth. "If you hadn't seen your kid for months, and you had the chance before leaving again, wouldn't you do anything to see him for just a few minutes?"

Steve buried his face in his hands and didn't reply.

"I sure as hell would." James took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what Sharon does—"

"She's in real estate," Steve interrupted.

"Like hell she's in real estate," James shot back. "What kind of real estate agent vanishes for months at a time and carries a concealed pistol?"

Steve sat up. "What?"

James tossed Sharon's envelope at Steve. "She left this."

Steve tore the envelope open and read it. "She says she has to do something overseas and she doesn't know when she'll be back," Steve said, incredulous. "And to tell Clint that she loves him? What the hell is this?"

"What you say when you can't say anything else." James slumped down. "I knew guys, special ops, they'd leave a letter like that before missions."

"Sharon isn't special ops!" Steve protested.

"Maybe she's into drugs?" James suggested. "Running for the cartels? Real estate would be a good cover for smuggling."

Steve opened his mouth, closed it again, then stood. "This is stupid," he said. "Sharon's just a real estate agent. Peggy got her into it, that's why she's in Europe all the time."

James looked at Steve. He wasn't sure if the man actually believed that, or if he was trying to hold on to old stories to make sense of the world. It didn't really matter to James, as long as Sharon's job didn't come back on them to hurt Clint.

"Clint's still sleeping," James said again. "Don't wake him up, okay?"

With a low growl, Steve headed in the direction of the kitchen, where Skye and Natasha were engaged in a tea party. James sighed, and made himself sit up. He did have work to do, and domestic dramas didn't mean he could avoid his responsibilities.

Keeping an ear out, James was distantly aware that Steve's voice had joined those in the kitchen. Natasha seemed to be asking a lot of questions, which James was ashamed to admit he didn't want to answer. Not right now. He'd seen too many soldiers have to say goodbye for the last time to blame Sharon for dropping into their lives as she had. If James had been in her shoes, knowing he might have one last opportunity to see Natasha… he'd have travelled through hell to get to her.

The thing was, James didn't really believe his suggestion of drug running. Not after he'd seen Sharon Carter – she was the kind of woman he'd met often in his years as a Ranger, from one of the countless agencies that dropped agents into the sandbox for undisclosed missions. It was that inner steel, along with the pantsuit and shoes flat enough to run in… those James still saw every day he worked with Maria Hill.

But, he decided, he was going to keep these thoughts to himself. Unless it came back to hurt Clint or Steve.

So he sat, and he worked, and after a while he heard a shuffling coming from his office. Looking up, he saw Clint standing in the doorway, looking hot and angry.

"You want to put your glasses back on?" James asked, putting his work down. Clint stormed over to James' side, climbing up on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest.

"No!"

"Okay." James put the spectacles on the table for Clint to pick up when he wanted them. "How do you feel?"

Clint glared at James.

"Do you feel mad?" James asked. "Naps make me feel mad sometimes."

Clint glared harder. "My mommy came and then she went away!"

"You're right, she did. How do you feel about that?"

Clint's glare turned into a frown as he wiggled around on the couch. "I don't know!"

James took hold of Clint's bare foot and gave it a tiny shake. "Can I tell you something that I learned a long time ago? A special grown-up thing?"

Lying on his back now with his finger in his mouth, Clint nodded.

"It's about the people we love," James said. "Like your dad, and your mom."

Clint sat up.

"We can love them, and sometimes we can be angry at them, but we still love them," James said. Clint shimmied closer. "Like, we love them lots, but if they do something that makes us angry, then we can love them and be angry too. At the same time."

Clint put his hand on James' arm, pinching a fold of the man's shirt sleeve. "My mommy went away," he said again.

"I know how much you love your mom," James said quietly. "And you can love her, and be happy she came to see you, and also be mad that she had to go away. You can feel all those things at once."

Clint leaned against James' side. "My tummy hurts," he whispered. "And my throat hurts."

"That's not good," James said, knowing when to quit. "How about we put on your glasses and then get you some water?"

Clint nodded, and soon they were walking into the kitchen. When Clint spotted his father, he pulled away from James and headed towards Steve. "Hi Daddy," he said sadly, climbing onto Steve's lap.

"Hey buddy." Steve gave Clint a hug. "How do you feel?"

Clint wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I feel _everything_ ," he said. "James said that's okay."

"Sometimes," James said as he went to get a drink for Clint, "You feel all sorts of emotions in your head and it's hard to deal with."

"Daddy," Natasha pitched in from behind her teacup. "Clint is my _best friend_."

Wondering where this might be leading, James just said, "Okay."

"And what do we do for our best friends?" Skye asked, her hand on Natasha's shoulder.

Natasha set down her teacup, her eyes glittering green with intensity. "We hold their hand if they are sad," Natasha said clearly. "And we make them cookies if they are sad. And we play with them at the park if they are sad."

"Those sound like good things to do with our best friends," James said. He owed Skye, big time, for whatever she had said to Natasha to turn the girl away from her vendetta against Sharon. "Clint, would you like Natasha to hold your hand?"

"When we go to the park," Clint said, taking the water glass from James. "We can play at the park too, because we're best friends."

"That is a good idea," Steve said. "Do we all want to go to the park together?"

"Don't you have to go back to work?" James asked.

"No, I took the day off… in case." Steve looked down at Clint. "What do you say? Do you want to go to the park now?"

"Okay." Clint set down his water glass and slid to the ground with a bump. "Come on, Natasha, we will go put on our shoes."

"Okay, let's put on our shoes," Natasha agreed. Skye followed the children out of the kitchen, leaving Steve and James to stare at each other over the table.

Steve broke first. "I'm still pissed off," he said, low enough that they could not be overheard by the children.

"So be pissed. She's your ex."

"You're not mad?"

"She ain't my business. You and Clint, you're my business."

There was something in Steve's eyes that James didn't quite understand. "Most guys don't stick up for their friend's ex."

James stood. "You're a big boy, you take care of your own feelings," he said curtly. "Me being angry at Clint's mother is not going to do Clint a damned bit of good."

He turned to the sink, mostly to get away from Steve's searching gaze. It wasn't like he was lying; Sharon Carter wasn't his concern. Right now, Clint was where James had to focus his energy. Steve was a grown man, he could deal with his own feelings.

Something touched his back, making James jump. "Sorry," Steve said, not sounding sorry at all. "I didn't say thank you."

"For what?"

"For Clint." Steve was standing in James' personal space, so close that James could smell the scent of Steve's soap. "Everything you do for him."

"He's a good kid," James said, hardly able to breathe over the butterflies in his stomach at Steve's closeness. "He needs one of us to have our head in the game, you know?"

"Yeah." And still Steve just stood there, looking at James, until the familiar two-toned calls of " _Daddy_!" pulled the men back to themselves.

"Come on," James said, taking a step away from Steve. "Park time."

Right now, Clint and Natasha and Steve were all that mattered to James. The mystery of Sharon Carter could wait for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book the kids are reading on camp-out night is [Story Girl](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Story_Girl) by L.M. Montgomery, which is a good book for boys and girls. It's [free on Project Gutenberg](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5342).


	15. Three To Get Ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Three To Get Ready – Dave Brubeck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BU7uaiMaLds)

* * *

A few days after the 'Sharon' incident, James sat in a café with Maria, trying to plan what Winterhill Security Consulting would do while James was on vacation. So far, Maria had managed to secure a promise for a three-week vacation of her own in the fall, and James was trying to hold strong against a month-long Christmas break.

Giving up for the moment, James went to the counter for a refill. When he returned, Maria was paging through her notebook. "We're going to be busy through September," she said, continuing the conversation. "Can your nanny stay nights?"

"She has night classes at NYU, so no." James slurped his coffee, earning him a glare from Maria. "Steve can watch the kids."

Maria sat back. "You're not going to ask him first?"

"What's to ask? It's gotta get done, and he can do me a favour." James set down his cup. "What?"

Maria, who had been regarding James with an odd expression on her face, shook her head. "Just be careful."

James felt a wave of ice shiver down his spine. "Nothing to be careful about," he said with deliberate ease. "Steve's my friend."

Maria reached across the table to lay her fingers on James' hand. "Never try to fool a profiler," she said, giving James' hand a squeeze. "You're a good man."

James took a few deep breaths. "You go right on thinking that," he said, pulling his hand away.

"I will." Maria turned back to her notebook. "So, is Natasha ready for her first trip away from home?"

"Almost," James said, relieved to change the subject. "We took the kids shopping yesterday. Nat's grown a bit since April, so I had to get her new jeans and some new leggings. Then she talked me into buying her a new party dress."

"Send me a picture of her in the dress," Maria instructed James. "What was Steve doing during all this?"

"Trying to get Clint new clothes without the kid climbing the light fixtures." James smiled at the memory. "It's hard to buy clothes for Clint, he doesn't like many of the colors they have for boys' clothes. But Steve got him new swim trunks and a few t-shirts. It should be enough for a week away."

"What about you?" Maria asked. "Did you buy anything nice for your trip?"

James wrinkled his nose. "What nice? I got shirts that'll fit over my arm, some jeans, some shorts. I'm good."

"What about a swimsuit?"

James looked down at his papers. "What for?" he asked after a minute. "I ain't taking Nat into a swimming pool."

"You told me that the beach house has a private pool, and there's the ocean," Maria said, relentless. "What are you going to do if Natasha wants to go into the water, watch her from the sidelines?"

One of the things James hated the most about Maria, was that she was usually _right._

"And you said Steve's already seen you without your shirt," Maria continued. "Just get some swim trunks, stop thinking about it."

"Fine," James said. "I'll pick some up, quit bugging me." He flipped over a page in his notebook. "But I'm not getting speedos."

"Who wears speedos?" Maria asked.

James looked at Maria. "Steve does."

Maria's eyebrows went up. "Damn."

"Yeah."

" _Damn_."

James was saved from having to respond to this observation by the buzzing of his phone. "Winterhill Security Consulting," he said.

"Hey, it's Steve," came the man's voice, sending a curl of warmth through James' stomach. "You still with Maria?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I need a favour."

James couldn't help it; he sighed. "Another one? At the rate you're going, you're going to owe me until I'm ninety."

"This isn't that big of a deal," Steve protested. "I just got off the phone with Abraham. His flight lands at JFK at three-thirty."

"You need me to watch Clint while you pick him up?" James asked, not understanding what Steve wanted.

"Not exactly. Abraham drove to the airport from Jersey."

"Then what?"

"Well," Steve said in a tone James had come to dread. "I told him that before he drives home, he should stop by and we can have dinner."

James closed his eyes. "And by 'stop by', you mean…"

"At your place," Steve said. "He can spend more time with Clint and I can get there faster than if I need to pick up Clint then take the subway home."

"Steve—"

"You won't need to do anything," Steve hurried on. "I'll pick up dinner, and Abraham and Clint can hang out before I get there. I have your spare key, remember? I can slip in without bothering anyone."

It was not as easy as all that; having a guest over, especially one as important to Steve as Abraham Erskine, was going to require a full house cleaning, and James was pretty sure that most of his kitchen was the opposite of kosher after that morning's breakfast bacon. But James knew his weaknesses, and in most things he would never be able to say _no_ to Steve.

He hoped Steve never figured that out.

"Yeah, sure," James said, feeling his shoulders hunch over under the weight of his now-complicated afternoon. "Does Abraham know how to find the place?"

"Yes," Steve said in triumph. "Bucky, this mean so much to me, I can't thank you enough."

"Yeah, well, just make sure that you get enough food for everyone," James said. "Call me when you know more." When James set the phone down, he found Maria eyeing him. "What?"

"You'll do fine," Maria said with a smile. "Do you want to do the rest of this tomorrow?"

"Yeah." James began to pack his papers together. "Come by in the morning, we can get this finished."

"I won't come by too early."

"Huh?" James asked as he stood. "The kids are done their breakfast by eight."

Somehow, from the expression on Maria's face, James knew he'd missed her point.

* * *

As soon as James closed the house's front door, he dropped his briefcase on the hall table and shouted, "Where is everyone?"

"Daddy!" came a distant shriek, then two sets of footsteps pounded up the stairs from the basement. "You came home!"

"I always come home," James said, kneeling down for a double hug by Clint and Natasha. "Why were you downstairs?"

"Skye is teaching us the washing machine!" Natasha said proudly, turning as Skye came up the last step at a sedate pace. "So we can do _chores._ "

"Chores?" James asked. "Okay, you two can go scrub the bathroom next."

"Yuck!" Clint said, shaking his head while Natasha giggled. "No way!"

"They got the idea from their book," Skye said. "Canadian children always do their chores." Although her face was grave, Skye's eyes danced with amusement.

"Yes, they do," Natasha said primly. "And then they eat apples."

"Of course they do," James said, standing. "Okay, I need everyone to come over to the couch, I have some news."

"Is it my mommy?" Clint asked immediately, letting himself be herded to the couch with Natasha. "Is she coming home?"

"Not right now," James hedged. Once the children were seated on either side of Skye, James plopped down onto the armchair and said, "I got a call from Steve. Clint, your Grandpa Abraham is coming over for dinner."

Clint stared in amazement for about four seconds, then let out an unholy shriek as he jumped to his feet. It took James a moment to realize that Clint was bouncing up and down in excitement. "Grandpa Abraham is the _best_!" he shouted. "I can't _wait_!"

Natasha, who was watching Clint's antics in alarm, asked, "What's so great about a grandpa?"

Clint gave one last hop before turning to face Natasha. "He tells funny stories about my dad!" Clint said joyously. "And he's old! He's _so_ old! And sometime he gives me presents."

At this last, Natasha sat up alertly. "Daddy," she said urgently. "Can I have a grandpa to give me presents?"

"Sorry, kiddo," James said. "You don't have any grandparents. But I give you presents."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not the same," she grumbled. "You _have_ to give me presents."

"I do?"

"It's a law," Natasha agreed. Skye couldn't stop from laughing at this, and Natasha twisted to look up at her. "What's so funny?"

"I'm laughing because you're right," Skye said, quickly schooling her features. "It's different when a grandparent gives presents."

Somewhat mollified, Natasha slid to the ground and went to join Clint, who was still bouncing around in excitement.

Looking at Skye, James said, "I have two hours to get this place cleaned up."

"It's probably too late to move and start over fresh," Skye agreed. "If you want, I can get the kids to tidy upstairs."

"You're the best," James said with feeling. He cleared his throat as he stood up. "Hey, peanut butter and jelly." This nickname did nothing to draw the children's attention. "Kids." Again, nothing. James shifted so he was standing at parade rest and let out a piercing whistle. "Atten _tion_!"

The kids stopped bouncing and stood up straight.

"We have guests coming!" James said in his best drill sergeant voice. "This house needs to be inspection ready!"

"Yes sir!" Clint shouted, as Natasha said, "Okay."

"I need you to aid in inspection efforts!" James went on. Skye wasn't even trying to hide her laughter any more. "Private Barnes!"

Natasha frowned up at her father. "Is that me?" she asked.

"Yes," James said in his normal voice. "We're playing pretend."

"Okay," Natasha agreed. "I'll pretend."

James looked the children over, in case he was scaring them, but they both looked excited. "Private Rogers!" he added, back in drill sergeant mode.

"Yes sir!" Clint yelled, saluting so hard he almost fell over.

"You are to report to Captain Skye for cleaning detail!" James said. "We have two hours for this house to be ship-shape! Start from the top to the bottom, understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," Natasha said, while Clint saluted again.

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes!" the children shouted.

"One more time!"

" ** _Yes!_** "

James came out of parade rest to full attention. "Company, dismissed!"

The children tore off for the stairs. Skye, recovered slightly from her amusement, said, "We can probably get the third floor in order in about twenty minutes."

"Sounds good," James said. He was glad to slump against the back of the couch. "I'll get the kids' water bottles ready, if you want to send them down when they're done. They can play in the backyard until Abraham gets here."

"Good idea." Skye turned to the stairs.

"Hey," James said, catching Skye's attention. "Why laundry?"

She shrugged. "They got the idea somehow, and I figured it was better they see it done the right way than to try to figure it out themselves."

"What are you washing?"

"Clint's new shirts." And with that, Skye went up stairs.

James looked around the living room. It wasn't messy, but certainly not as company-clean as his mother would have demanded.

James shook his head. He was a single father with one arm. As long as the house was tidy enough, it would have to do. If Abraham thought any differently, he would just have to lump it.

Turning, James headed to the kitchen to start cleaning.

* * *

At quarter to four, James got a text from Steve. _How's it going?_

After glancing at his phone, propped out of the way on the first-floor bathroom counter, James finished scrubbing the toilet, set the brush and spray bottle away, and peeled the disposable glove off his right hand with the carefully bent fingers of his prosthetic. Slowly straightening his aching back, he typed, _kids in yard and hous clean._

_??? u didn't have to clean up_

James sent back a little thumbs-down emoji. _i set good exmple 4 kids_

 _Thanks_ , Steve replied, then sent a series of happy faces.

Rolling his eyes, James tossed the disposable glove into the garbage bag, pocketed his phone, and carried the garbage to the kitchen. Through the open back door, James could hear Natasha and Clint shrieking in the yard. Lucky kids, James thought as he pulled the kitchen garbage out from under the sink. They got to run around and have fun when Steve came up with his brilliant ideas. Which left James doing all the work.

James didn't _mind_ , not really; he'd been honest when he'd told Steve that he would do anything for Steve and for Clint. It was just, sometimes, James grew tired of doing the heavy lifting.

Soon enough, James had carted out the garbage to the bins, straightened the foyer on his way back inside, and gave the living room a final once-over. It was going to have to be good enough, because James had run out of energy to care.

He stopped in the kitchen to wash his hand, then continued outside. Clint and Natasha were running in circles around the garden boxes, while Skye sat on the back step out of the sun.

James sat down, his body aching. "What are they playing?"

"Flying dinosaurs," Skye said. "Their new game."

"Sounds fun."

"Uh huh." Skye tapped on her tablet for a few moments, then set the device aside. "So, do you know what you're going to be doing in the Hamptons?"

James leaned to the side, trying to stretch out the kink in his back. "I dunno, hang out? There's a pool and the ocean, and Steve says there's stuff in town."

"Are you going to be going on any nature walks?"

It was an odd enough question that James took his eyes off the children to look at Skye. "Why?"

She met his gaze without blinking. "I have some old worksheets from the preschool for nature walk bingo," she said. "You know how Natasha can sometimes get bored unless she has a mission, something to focus on."

"And you think a nature walk bingo card will help?"

"It's an idea."

James considered. He didn't know how Clint would react to the upcoming week at the beach, but he did know his daughter, and Skye was right. Natasha could concentrate for hours when she had a task to complete. Besides, the idea of taking the kids on a nature walk appealed to James.

"I can make up a few cards easily," Skye said. "Beach walks, city walks, forest walks…"

"Forest?" James asked.

"There's a few state parks out past where you'll be staying." Skye pulled over her computer. "You can just keep driving east until you hit the lighthouse."

With a rush, the children descended upon the adults. "What's a lighthouse?" Natasha demanded, crashing breathlessly into her father.

"It's a big building on the coast to help ships at night," James said, steadying his daughter. "Are you two done playing?"

"I'm thirsty!" Clint exclaimed, going for his water bottle.

"Daddy," Natasha said urgently, tugging on James' sleeve. "Is the grandpa here yet?"

"Not yet," James said as he held Natasha's water bottler up so she would hydrate. "Steve said that Abraham's plane landed at four. What time is it now?"

Clint and Natasha consulted the watch on Clint's wrist. "It is four and some," Natasha said after a moment.

"Four and _eleven_ ," Clint clarified.

"So he's probably going to be a little while yet," James told them. "He had to get off the airplane, then get his luggage, then his car, and only then can he drive here."

Natasha handed James her water bottle. "Can I go change?" she asked unexpectedly.

"What do you want to change into?" James asked. "A giraffe? A water buffalo?"

"A porcupine!" Clint chimed in, grinning, but Natasha was not smiling.

"When I meet the grandpa, I need to wear grandpa clothes," she said.

"Sure," James said, not knowing what she meant by 'grandpa clothes' but he'd see soon enough. "Not your bathing suit or your dance clothes, okay?"

"Okay." Natasha wandered into the house, which left James staring at Clint. The boy had managed, in the space of half an hour outside, to smear dirt all over the front of his t-shirt.

"You need to change too."

Clint pulled a face. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because your grandfather is coming from a long way away and you are going to look presentable," James said. "Come on, the dryer should be done."

"You need me for anything else today?" Skye asked, standing.

"Can you hang around until I know Nat's not going to come down with socks on her head?" James asked as the adults followed Clint into the house.

"Sure thing," Skye said with a smile.

In the basement, James dug through the still-warm clothes from the dryer while Clint wrestled himself out of his dirty shirt. "What do you want to put on?" James asked.

Clint considered. "I want to wear the purple bird," he said.

Obligingly, James extracted the Baltimore Ravens' shirt from the pile of clothing, then quickly folded the rest of the clothing before they could wrinkle.

"James?" Clint asked, pulling the shirt over his head. "How come Grandpa Abraham is coming here?"

"Your dad suggested it," James said. Folding clothes with a prosthetic arm had taken some figuring, but after almost six years he had the rhythm down; pinch a fold in the cloth with his metal fingers, then fold around that with his good hand. "This way, you can spend more time with your grandfather than if your dad came to pick you up and take you home."

It occurred to James, somewhat belatedly, that he could have offered to drive Clint home so Steve could take the train all the way to south Brooklyn and thus James could have avoided all of this trouble, but it was far too late for that now.

"Good," Clint said. "I like Grandpa Abraham. He's the _best_. That's what Natasha says. The _best_."

"She does say that," James said as he folded the last shirt. "Come on, let's go upstairs and wait by the window."

When James and Clint reached the main floor, James realized that he had made one serious oversight in his instructions to Natasha. The little girl was in her new dress, an expensive creation of dark green shimmering fabric with a gold ribbon at the waist that Natasha had literally flung herself towards in the store. James had expected that she could wear the dress if they went out for a fancy dinner in the Hamptons, but he had not thought she would pull it out of her closet for this.

"Daddy," Natasha said, "Skye is braiding my hair."

James opened his mouth to tell Natasha to go upstairs and change, that the dress had cost a hundred dollars and was dry-clean only and what was she _thinking_ , wearing it where it could get dirty? But the voice in his head was his mother's, snapping at his sister over something similar decades before, so James made himself smile at his daughter instead.

"You look very pretty, Natasha," he said. "Why are you all dressed up?"

"Because the grandpa is coming," Natasha said, letting Skye move her around. The girl's face was solemn. "It's a special occasion."

"Sure is!" Clint said cheerfully. "Hey, can I dress up too?"

James had to intervene, and in handling Clint he wasn't able to attend to Natasha, who was worryingly quiet as Skye french-braided Natasha's hair up off her face. Then the children had to say goodbye to Skye, who was running late, and that left the three of them in the house.

James checked his phone, but no messages from Steve. In an effort to contain Clint's gleeful enthusiasm, James pulled his old copy of the Hobbit off the shelf and opened it up, starting off with _i_ _n a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,_ and that held the children's distracted attention – Natasha sitting primly on the couch while Clint stood and shifted around as he listened to James.

At a quarter to five, the doorbell rang. Clint let out a yell as he raced to the door, but James beat him to it. Through the glass and the metal bars, James could see an old man standing on the front step, suitcases piled at his side.

"Grandpa Abraham!" Clint shouted. As James opened the inner door, Clint dashed through to the front door. Giving up on decorum, James scooped Clint up to let the boy turn the deadbolt and open the door. "Grandpa Abraham, you're here!"

The old man stooped down to hug the excited child. "Hello, my boy," said the man. His words were tinged with a European accent, maybe German. James put him in his mid-seventies, but he still moved spryly enough.

"Grandpa Abraham, look at my glasses!" Clint said eagerly. "I can _read_ now!"

"That is very good to hear," Abraham said, his hand on Clint's shoulder. "But let an old man get inside, it is a hot day."

Somehow, in spite of the little boy jumping in their way, the two men got Abraham's suitcases through the doors and into the house. As soon as the door was shut, Clint grabbed Abraham's hand, grinning up at him all the while.

"And you must be Steven's Bucky," Abraham said, reaching out his free hand to James. "Steven has told me a lot about you."

James shook the offered hand, making himself smile over the sudden, irrational anger stirring in his chest. This was the man who had taken Steve away from James when they were twelve; adopted him and taken him away to New Jersey where James could not follow.

Even as the thought crossed James' brain, he pushed it away. It was an unfair and petty thing to think, even for a moment. Abraham had given Steve a family, a home, just what twelve-year-old Steve had always wanted.

It may have taken years, but James had Steve back in his life now, and things were going along just _fine_.

"Just James," James said, shaking Abraham's hand. "Steve should be here soon, he's picking up dinner on the way home from work."

Abraham was looking at James with a slight smile; the man's attention was sharp and encompassing, and James was relieved when the man turned his attention down to Clint.

"Come on!" Clint was saying, pulling Abraham into the house. "Come meet Natasha, she's my best friend!"

"Yes, let us go," Abraham said, smiling fondly at his grandson.

Natasha was standing in the living room, watching the greetings at the door with wide eyes. When Clint said, "Look, Natasha, it's Grandpa Abraham!" the girl did not move.

Then, to James' astonishment, Natasha's eyes filled with tears and she turned to run toward the kitchen.

"Nat?" James called, already moving to follow his daughter.

But Clint got there first. "Hey, where are you going?" Clint yelled, running after Natasha. "Come back! You gotta meet Grandpa Abraham!"

Once in the kitchen, James slowed. Natasha sat huddled on the back step, her back to them. Clint ran over to her side.

"What's wrong?" Clint demanded, plunking himself onto the step at Natasha's side. "Why'd you run away?"

James turned his head to see Abraham coming into the kitchen. The man looked about as worried as James felt. "I didn't mean to scare her," Abraham said, quietly so as not to attract the children's attention. "Do you know what is wrong?"

"No," James said, just as softly. "She's not normally like this."

On the step, Natasha gave a mighty sniffle. "You have a grandpa!" she said to Clint, almost accusingly. "And a mommy! I don't have a mommy! Or a grandpa!"

Clint moved closer to Natasha to put his arm around her shoulders. "That's sad," he agreed.

On hearing Natasha's words, James felt an almost comical rush of relief. Natasha might be having an existential crisis, but at least she hadn't run from Abraham out of fear. Natasha had never run away from anyone before, and James didn't want to consider what it might mean if she started now.

"I only have my daddy!" Natasha continued, her voice reaching a fever pitch. "And without him, I am…" She paused to sniffle loudly. " _Alone_!"

James sighed. He had no idea how the hell he was going to deal with this. On autopilot, he went to the coffee pot to make a fresh batch, hoping that would give him some time to think of a way to help Natasha.

"Aw, you're not alone," Clint said. He rested his cheek on Natasha's hair. "I'm your best friend!"

Sniffling, Natasha said, "Yeah! We are best friends!"

"And we'll be best friends forever," Clint said loyally. "Just like our dads. We'll be best friends until we're old like them!"

Abraham, who had been listening to this exchange in silence, let out a snort of laughter at Clint's pronouncement. "Ah, to be so old," he said at James' questioning glance. "I remember thirty."

"Come on," Clint was saying as he got to his feet. "Come meet my grandpa, he can be your grandpa too."

"Hang on a minute," James said, but he was ignored as the children walked across the kitchen towards Abraham.

"Grandpa Abraham," Clint said solemnly, "This is Natasha. She is my best friend. She can do dancing and she likes spiders and we play dinosaurs together."

"Well, hello," Abraham said. He lowered himself creakily into one of the kitchen chairs. "It is very nice to meet you."

Natasha smiled timidly at the man. "Clint's _my_ best friend," she informed Abraham. "He has a daddy and a mommy but I only have a daddy because I am _adopted_."

"You are?" Abraham appeared to consider this. "Well, you know, I adopted Steven. That's why Clint is my grandson."

"Grandpa Abraham is my favorite grandpa," Clint chimed in, leaning against Abraham's knee. "He has a big house and he's a doctor man and he lets me drink as much grape juice as I want."

Natasha was busy with more pressing matters than unlimited grape juice. "You adopted Steve?" she said. "Like Daddy adopted me?"

"I adopted you when you were three months old," James put in from the counter, where he was busy fetching cups. "Abraham adopted Steve when Steve was twelve years old."

"Yes, he was," Abraham said mildly. "And you know what?"

Natasha shook her head.

"I, too, am adopted." Abraham smiled at the children. "Ever so many years ago, I was adopted. So I know how it feels."

"You got adopted?" Clint demanded. "How come?"

Abraham covered Clint's small hands with his own. "There were a lot of people who died in a war that was very long ago," Abraham said quietly. "Now, come, we should help James with the glasses, yes?"

In a few minutes, they were all settled back at the kitchen table. James and Abraham had coffee, while the children each had a small glass of apple juice, chosen so a spill wouldn't stain Natasha's dress. A light breeze blew in from the open back door, and the afternoon sun shone into the kitchen, and it was almost a perfect day. If Steve had been there, James thought, it might just be.

"Hey, Grandpa Abraham," Clint asked as he wiped his juice moustache onto his shirt sleeve. "Why'd you got your suitcases? Are you gonna live here too?"

"No," Abraham said with some amusement. "It is an important rule, never leave your suitcase in a parked car in New York. Someone may steal them."

"No they won't," Natasha chimed in. "If they do, I'll chase them!"

"No chasing bad guys," James said, handing Natasha a paper towel so she would not follow Clint's example. "You tell me or Steve if you see a bad guy."

"Will _you_ chase a bad guy?" Natasha demanded.

"No." James took another sip of his coffee. "I would call the police. That's their job."

 Natasha did not seem thrilled with James' reply, but he was not about to start sharing details of his time in special ops just to look cool in front of his daughter.

Clint finished his last drop of juice and set his cup down, letting out a satisfied burp. Natasha dissolved into giggles.

"Clint," James said.

"Excuse me," Clint said, completely unrepentant. "Hey, can we show Grandpa Abraham the backyard?" He turned to his grandfather. "We had a sleep over and we made wind chimes."

"That sounds very nice," Abraham said. He set down his coffee cup. "Can they go out in these clothes?" he asked James.

"Sometimes I know better than to argue," James replied. "Nat, honey, come here.

Natasha slipped off her chair with a thud. "What?" she asked as she walked over to James.

"Can you be extra careful of your dress today?" he asked, smoothing the fabric over Natasha's shoulders.

"Of course I can, Daddy!" Natasha said. She crossed her arms over her chest. "A big girl always keeps her dress clean!" She threw a look over her shoulder at Abraham. "I am almost _six_ ," she informed him.

"You're five and a half," James corrected her, bending over to press a quick kiss against her hair. "Okay, you two, go show Abraham the back yard, then we can take him upstairs so he can see your artwork."

"I made a painting today," Clint said, reaching for Abraham's hand. "It has purple and black and is a dinosaur bird."

"I made a painting today too," Natasha said, taking Abraham's other hand. "Mine is red and blue and is a _spider_."

"They both sound lovely," Abraham said. "But first, let's go outside. An old man needs to stretch his legs. My, look at that lovely vegetable garden."

Still chattering away, Natasha and Clint led Abraham out the back door. James quickly tidied the kitchen, poking his head outside every so often to make sure the kids weren't wearing Abraham out, and that Natasha was okay.

On the third trip to the door, James paused, leaning against the doorframe to watch. Clint and Natasha had taken Abraham to the tree, to show him their Camp-Out night wind chimes. The man was managing to easily hold the conversation with both children at once, asking about the tree and the chimes and the vegetable garden. James slipped outside to sit on the steps, resting his prosthetic arm on his knee to take the weight off the straps.

"…and Daddy said that one day we can eat the vegetables," Natasha was saying, sounding rather dubious. "I like to talk to the carrots. They know secrets."

"What sort of secrets?" Abraham asked, slowing down as Natasha headed for the garden boxes.

"They know when it's going to rain," Natasha confided. Clint patted the green carrot tops with a gentle hand. "And one day, when I eat the carrot, I will know too."

"A very wise idea," Abraham replied. "What do you think, Clint?"

Clint made a face. "I don't like carrots," he confessed. "They're loud."

"Why?" Natasha demanded before either adult could ask Clint what he meant.

"In my ear." Clint pointed at his hearing aid. "When I crunch them in my teeth, they are too loud."

"That's not good," Natasha commiserated, patting Clint on the arm.

As this conversation was taking place, Abraham had gently guided the children over to James. "Hey, kiddos," James said. "You want to show Abraham your artwork?"

Both children nodded, although Clint was a little more subdued than usual. Standing, James led the group inside, closed the door behind Abraham, and then headed upstairs to the third floor.

Here, Clint's animation returned. Both he and Natasha showed Abraham their latest masterpieces, explaining what each one was. Abraham was properly appreciative of the artistic talents of two five-year-olds, and after the children were finally persuaded to place their art back in the stack and head downstairs.

In the kitchen, James pulled out his phone. "No message from Steve," he said when he caught Abraham looking at him. "He should be here soon."

"There is no hurry," Abraham said, sinking down into a chair with a sigh. "I do not have to leave until eight; there is time for me and Steven to visit when he gets here."

Great. Well, regardless of what Steve would bring home as dinner, James had some work to do to get the table ready. Work that would go a lot faster if he didn't have any 'help'. Taking an idea out of Skye's playbook, James knelt down and got the children's attention. "Hey, how about you two draw us some special placemats for dinner?"

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"Because it's a special occasion."

"Okay," Clint said immediately. "I wanna make one for Grandpa Abraham."

"No, _I_ wanna make one for Grandpa Abraham!" Natasha retorted.

"You can both make one for Abraham," James interrupted before the discussion could devolve into hurt feelings. "Go grab some construction paper and crayons and come back in here, okay?"

As the children bolted out of the room, Abraham let out a small chuckle. "You are very good with them," the old man said. "It is good to see Clint with a friend he gets along with. Steven has been worried that Clint was not making friends in school."

"They're doing all right," James said, pushing himself to his feet. "Most days, they're great together. Sometimes, they have their fights, but all kids do."

"Yes," Abraham said. "My girls, when they were young, could fight awfully." He smiled, his eyes distant.

"Sally and Kimberly, right?"

"Yes." Abraham pulled out a well-worn wallet and removed a small photograph. "Our girls, when Kimberly was about Clint's age."

James came over to the table to look at the photo. Two little girls in a posed studio portrait, both smiling. The older girl was missing her front teeth.

"Of course, now, they are grown," Abraham went on, putting the photo back in its place. "Sally has two children, and Kimberly had a baby last year." He put his wallet away. "If only my Marta could have seen her grandchildren."

"Marta was your wife?" James asked, pulling five plates out of the cupboard. "Steve hasn't mentioned her."

"No, she died before I adopted Steven." Abraham paused as the children reappeared in a storm of paper and crayons. "We had been talking about adopting more children, before the accident."

"What accident?" Natasha asked as she settled herself in her favourite chair, crayons to hand.

"Yeah, what accident?" Clint echoed. He held three purple crayons, ready to tackle his placemat.

"I am telling James about your Grandmother Marta," Abraham said.

Clint's face cleared. "Oh yeah!" he said. "Grandma Marta was _cool_. Aunt Kimberly said so. When Grandma Marta was gonna have a baby, she climbed over a wall!"

This seemed so far-fetched that James could only raise his eyebrow, but Abraham laughed. "Does she still tell that story?" Abraham asked.

"Yeah, but you tell it better," Clint said. "Can you tell it again? Please?"

"Yes, _please_ ," Natasha put in. "Why'd she climb over a wall? She should have gone around."

"Ah, this was not a wall that one could walk around," Abraham said. "It was a wall that went all the way around a city."

"Why?" Natasha asked, pausing with her crayon half-way across the paper. "That's silly."

"It was very silly," Abraham said. "It was a long time ago, in a place called Germany. But then we didn't think it very silly."

"What happened?" Natasha asked. Her eyes were wide, crayon forgotten in her hand.

"It was very long ago, in 1975," Abraham said. "Long before your father was born. We lived in a city called East Berlin, and there was a big wall around the part of the city right next door, West Berlin."

"Who made the wall?" Natasha asked.

"A lot of old men who thought they knew best," Abraham said, shaking his head. "Back then, I was a doctor for athletes. We went to a tournament in America before the Olympics."

"I'm gonna be in the Olympics when I grow up," Clint interjected. "I'm gonna shoot arrows and be the _best_."

Abraham reached over to pat Clint on the back. "That is a good goal," Abraham said. "Now, where was I?"

"The lady was in the city with the wall," Natasha reminded him.

"Ah, yes. When I was in America, I never thought about not going home, because my Marta was in East Germany. I did not know she was going to have a baby, she had not told me before I left."

"So how'd she get over the wall?"

Abraham put his arms on the table, addressing Natasha. "One day, when she was out shopping at a store near the wall, there was a big explosion, like that!" He moved his hands wide. "A big truck was on fire by the wall."

Natasha's mouth dropped open. James had hardly ever seen her so riveted by a story.

"And all the guards ran towards the truck, thinking that some people had tried to damage the wall to escape. But Marta, who was far enough away from the explosion so that she was not hurt, immediately dropped her basket and ran for the wall, and she climbed up and over!"

"How come she did that?" Natasha demanded.

"She knew she was going to have a baby and she did not want our child to grow up under communism as we had," Abraham said. "She was very scared, but she did it anyway."

James knew that feeling. It had lived in his gut from the first day of his first deployment. Sometimes, he'd wondered if it would have been better if he didn't feel anything, if he stopped caring if he lived or died. But he had never been able to shake off being scared, and after a while it stopped bothering him. Being scared meant he was still alive.

"And my Marta, she got over the wall and the guards took care of her," Abraham concluded. "When I found out she was in West Berlin, I went right away to seek asylum in America. Then she came here too and we lived happily ever after."

"Wow," Natasha breathed. "That's a neat grandma."

"She was a very neat lady," Abraham agreed. He stood up. "Now, you children draw while I help your father with the plates." Natasha bent happily over her placemat as Abraham walked stiffly to the counter. "I sit too much, and I forget that I am not a young man," Abraham said, wincing slightly. "She is a clever girl, that Natasha."

"She sure is," James said, keeping his voice down. "Your wife escaped East Berlin in 1975?"

"She did," Abraham said as he took down two small glasses for the children. "The snipers were watching the wall, of course. Two others who tried to use the distraction of the burning truck, they were not so lucky."

"Was Marta hit?"

"One bullet, through her shoulder," Abraham said, touching the spot just below his collarbone. "She was so very lucky, she did not even lose too much blood."

James knew about bullets, knew about what damage a sniper round could do to the human body. "And the baby?"

"Yes," and Abraham smiled faintly. "Sally, my wife called her, after the American nurse in the hospital who stayed with her until she boarded the plane to the United States."

"Was there any trouble with that?" James asked. He didn't know much about the Cold War, outside of what he'd picked up in the Army, and old generals didn't exactly tell stories about defecting physicians and their wives.

"No," Abraham said. "I was an expert in what you young people call sports medicine. The Americans wanted to know all I could tell them about how East Germany's athletes were so very good." The man shrugged. "I could not tell them much. My work was primarily on nutrition and sleep. Not very exciting."

"What's not exciting?" Clint asked, appearing suddenly by the counter. "Can I have more juice?"

"No more juice until after dinner," James said. Clint frowned. "You can have milk or water, which one do you want?"

Clint let out a theatrical sigh. "Water, please."

As James went to fill a glass for Clint, the boy turned back to his grandfather. "What's not exciting?" he asked again.

"When I was a doctor in Germany," Abraham said. "I was the kind of doctor who made sure all the little boys and girls ate their vegetables and had a good sleep."

"Vegetables are boring," Clint complained, letting Abraham steer him back to the table. "And there's too much chewing."

"We can put them in the blender," James said, carrying Clint's glass to the table. "Cabbage smoothie."

"Yuck!" Clint said, reaching for his water.

"I like blueberries," Natasha said out of nowhere as she reached for another crayon. "Maria got me a smoothie once. It was blueberry and banana. I drank it with a straw."

"That sounds delicious," Abraham said, lowering himself back into his chair. "Now tell me, what are you drawing?"

Things were quiet for a few minutes as the children continued their artwork. James took the opportunity to lean against the counter, watching the three people at his kitchen table. He had wondered, over the years, what it would have been like if his parents had lived to be grandparents to Natasha. So far, he'd never been able to picture it. He couldn't see his father having anything to do with a child James adopted, and his mother… it was far easier to think of her every objection to how James was raising Natasha, than actually caring for the girl.

Maybe it would have been similar to the way things were with Rebecca. His only sister had been very clear when she told him that he was making a mistake in adopting Natasha, all those years ago, and she hadn't made any attempt to contact him after that.

Oh well. It was for the best. James and Natasha may only have each other, but there wasn't any negativity in Natasha's life. That was how James wanted it. Natasha wasn't a burden, like Rebecca had said she would be. His daughter was the best thing in James' life.

A faint click, a slam, and Steve's voice came from the living room. "I'm here!"

Natasha looked up eagerly, a smile on her face. Abraham looked up as well, towards the front door, but Clint didn't respond at all, just kept scribbling at his piece of paper.

That small thing alone was enough to tip over a month of observations: a month of Clint ignoring James when he wasn't facing the man, of Clint getting distracted in loud settings, of Steve's worries about Clint's hearing aid.

What if Clint's hearing was getting worse than even Steve suspected?

Taking a deep breath, James crossed over to the table and put his hand on Clint's shoulder. When the boy looked up, James said, "Do you want to go say hi to your dad?"

With a sudden grin, Clint jumped off his chair and ran out of the kitchen, Natasha close on his heels. In the living room, Steve was making exclamations of greetings while the children laughed, and they weren't there to see James lean wearily against the table.

"Steven told me he was worried that Clint's hearing was growing worse," Abraham said. "You had not before seen it?"

"It's just little things," James said. He rubbed his hand over his face. "We'll figure it out."

"Good." Abraham stood up, just as Steve came into the room, a child dangling from each forearm. "Ah, Steven!"

"Abraham!" Steve said, making a beeline to the counter to put down the grocery bags. "Kids, let go for a second."

Clint and Natasha both dropped to the floor as Steve went to Abraham for a hug. Steve was taller than Abraham and so had to bend down to embrace the man. "You get taller every time I see you," Abraham said with a smile as he patted Steve's back.

"Steve is very tall," Natasha observed from the ground. "Daddy, why is Steve so tall?"

"Because he ate all his vegetables when he was a kid," James said as he poked through the grocery bags. "Geeze, Steve, did you get enough food?"

"There's five of us," Steve said as he separated from Abraham. "Besides, I'm hungry." The man picked up Clint. "What about you, buddy? Are you hungry?"

"Uh huh," Clint said. "I'm _so_ hungry!"

"Good," Steve said with a smile. "Come on, let's get the food on the table."

"Can you guys do that on your own?" James asked as Steve set Clint back down.

"Yeah, of course," Steve replied. "What's up?"

"Costume change," James said, then knelt down to Natasha's level. "Natasha, you need to change before dinner."

Natasha scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "No."

"Nat."

"This is my pretty dress!" Natasha protested. "My _special_ dress!"

"And if you get it dirty today, you won't be able to wear it when we go on vacation," James pointed out. "Come on, let's get you changed back into your play clothes and we can keep the dress special for another night."

Natasha just glared at her father, but she didn't protest as he picked her up.

"We'll be right back," James said to Steve.

"I'll get dinner on the table," Steve replied with a smile, more relaxed than James had seen him since before Sharon came back into town, since before that whole Coney Island mess.

James hated to think that he might have to ruin Steve's calm by talking about Clint's hearing.

But if their roles had been reversed, if Steve had seen something in Natasha that would indicate her asthma was getting worse, James would need to know.

He'd do it after Abraham left, James decided as he carried a still-glowering Natasha upstairs. He'd talk to Steve about Clint's hearing after Abraham left.

Up in her room, Natasha let go enough of her aggravation to turn around so James could unzip the dress. "I wouldn't get it dirty," Natasha said, stomping around to pick up her discarded shirt and leggings. "I'm a big girl now."

"I know you are." James carefully hung the dress on a hanger, then put it into its place of honour in Natasha's closet. "But even the most careful person can get gravy on their clothes at dinner."

Natasha sat down to pull on her leggings. "Now it's not a special night anymore," she protested.

"Yes, it is," James said. He sat on the armchair to wait for his daughter. "It's a special night because of who's here, not because of what we're wearing."

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, obviously not believing this grown-up logic. "Clint gets to wear his fancy shirt," she pointed out.

"His fancy shirt is machine washable," James retorted. "Nat, honey, that's inside-out. Come here."

He helped Natasha turn her shirt the right way, then let her pull it on before tugging it straight on her shoulders. "Now I don't look pretty," the girl complained.

"You look very pretty," James said. He smoothed back the strands of hair that had escaped from her braid. "You always look very pretty. It's what's inside that counts, not the clothes you wear." Natasha looked at him. "Come here, up you get."

James pulled Natasha onto his knee, like he had done when she was smaller. The girl slumped against her father, curling up in the curve of his right arm. "Daddy," she said, "I don't have a grandpa."

"No, you don't." James sat back into the chair's cushioning. "You have me, though."

"And you'll be my daddy until I'm a hundred," Natasha finished. "Until I'm _two_ hundred."

"Sure will be." James gave Natasha a squeeze. "And you'll always be my little girl."

Natasha appeared satisfied by this. She slid off James' lap to the ground. "Can I wear your necklace for dinner?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure, go ahead." James stayed where he was as Natasha scampered across her bedroom to her dresser, where she picked up the dog tags from their special place beside her barrettes. "You like them?"

"Uh huh," Natasha agreed. She pulled the chain over her head as she returned to James' side. "I feel all grown up when I wear this. Like I'm in the Army too, like you."

"Yeah." James put his hand on Natasha's back. "Nat, can I ask you a question? About Clint?"

"Yes," Natasha replied immediately. "Clint is my best friend. I know all about him."

James took a breath. It was always best to gather intel before a mission, and he didn't know if he'd get Natasha away from Clint again that evening. "Natasha, sometimes when you two are together, and I say something, it seems like you're ignoring me."

Natasha looked down at her toes.

"Are you ignoring me?" James asked, trying to keep the stress he was feeling out of his words. "Or sometimes, do you not hear me?"

Natasha squirmed. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asked.

"You can always tell me a secret," James said. "What is it?"

Natasha cuddled in against James' side. "Sometimes I hear you, but Clint doesn't, so I pretend I don't either so he doesn't get in trouble," she whispered.

James let out a shaky breath. He had been afraid of that. "You don't have to pretend," James said. "You can ask me to repeat myself, so both you and Clint know what I'm saying."

Natasha pressed her cheek against James' chest. "Clint doesn't want his daddy to know," she said. "He says, if his daddy knows he can't hear, his daddy will think he's a dummy. Clint doesn't want to be dumb."

James leaned forward to pick Natasha up, standing as he did so. "Clint isn't dumb, he's a smart boy," he said into Natasha's ear. "Not being able to hear has absolutely nothing to do with intelligence."

"Then how come his teachers called Clint dumb?" Natasha demanded, kicking her feet as James carried her into the hall.

"Sometimes, adults are wrong," James said. There was more he wanted to say about Clint's kindergarten teachers, but Natasha was not the right audience for such language. "That's an important thing for you to remember. Adults aren't always right."

"What about you?" Natasha asked, tugging on James' earlobe. "Are you always right?"

"Not always," James admitted. As much as he was loath to admit it, Natasha was of an age now where she could understand that not even her old man had all the answers. "If you think I'm wrong, you tell me and we can talk about it. Okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said. She clung to James' neck all the way down the stairs and into the living room, where she wiggled to get down. James set her on her feet and let her run into the kitchen. "Clint!" Natasha exclaimed as soon as she was in earshot of her friend. "Guess what?"

"What?" Clint asked. Coming around the wall, James could see that the dinner table was set and the food ready. "I'm hungry!"

"My daddy," Natasha said, hands on her hips, "said sometimes he is _wrong._ "

"He _is_?" Clint asked, astonished.

"Yup." Natasha climbed up to her chair. "And I told him that sometimes you can't hear when he says things to you."

This bombshell fell into the room with an almost-audible crash. Steve jerked his head up, staring at Natasha, while Abraham just sighed.

Clint, however, looked as if his world was ending. "Aww, why'd you tell him that?" Clint asked, kicking a chair leg.

"Clint?" Steve said, putting the salad bowl in his hands on the table. "What's going on?"

Clint turned away from his father as Abraham reached out with a quiet, "Steven."

"Hey," James said, dropping to his knees beside Clint. "It's okay if your dad knows that. It's okay if you tell me to speak up when you don't hear me."

"No, it's not!" Clint exclaimed. "Boys who can't hear are dummies! They're stupid!" Clint pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Their mommies go away and don't want dumb boys!"

"That isn't true," James interjected, reaching out to stop Clint from kicking the chair leg again. "You're not dumb, and your mom didn't go away because of anything you did."

"Then why does she keep going away?" Clint demanded hotly. Steve tried to reach out for his son, but Clint pushed him away. The boy was breathing hard and tears were gathering in his eyes.

"Sometimes people leave because they have to, not because they want to," James said, releasing his hold on Clint's arm. The boy didn't run, not even when Steve knelt beside Clint and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. After a moment's pause, Clint turned and collapsed against Steve, his arms going around Steve's neck.

If he had known Clint was still so freaked out about his mother's visit the previous week, James would have done things very differently. But it was too late now.

"Natasha, come here," James said, sitting down on the ground with a bump. He was too old to spend all his time kneeling on hard floors. Natasha hurried over from the table and put her arms around James' neck, staring at Clint with open-mouth astonishment. "Clint, can you listen to me for a minute? It's important."

Sniffling loudly, Clint turned in Steve's embrace to look at James.

"This is very important, and it's a very grown-up thing, okay?" Both children nodded. "Little boys and little girls who have a hard time hearing, they're just as smart as you or me. Got it? If they can't hear, it has nothing to do with how smart they are. It only means that they have a hard time hearing."

Clint sniffled again, but he was still watching James so that was something.

Taking a deep breath, James went on. "Same as if you meet someone who can't see. If they can't see, all that means is that they can't see. It has nothing to do with how smart and how nice they are. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Natasha said, but Clint was shaking his head.

"What is it, buddy?" Steve asked as he pulled Clint up into a hug.

"When I can't see the board, Mrs. Anders said I was 'ruptive," the boy wailed. "When I can't hear her, she said I was _difficult_."

"Mrs. Anders is _wrong_!" Natasha interrupted. "Grown-ups can be wrong, Daddy says so!"

"Then why'd Mommy _leave_?"

Steve patted Clint on the back. "I told you, your mom has to work," he said against Clint's hair. "And she loves you very much and she misses you very much and she'll be back again some day."

"But I want her to stay!" Clint exclaimed.

"I know." Steve stood up, holding Clint as he walked to the table. James disentangled Natasha's arms from his neck before standing with some effort. "Sometimes we want things we can't have. But we still love people who aren't here."

"We do," Abraham said, reaching out to put his hand on Clint's arm. "We love people still after they are gone, and they love us the same."

Clint wiped his nose on his arm. "Then why can't they stay?" he asked crossly.

"Sometimes, they cannot." Abraham ruffled Clint's hair. "Now, are you too upset to eat your dinner?"

Clint sniffled, sniffled again, then said, "No."

After James helped Natasha into her chair, dinner was quickly portioned onto the plates. Steve had gone overboard at the store, buying two roasted chickens, three kinds of packaged salads, and mashed potatoes. James put a bit of everything on Natasha's plate before serving himself. Clint refused to go to his usual chair and picked food off Steve's plate.

Abraham was the one who saved the meal. As they ate, he told stories of Steve as a teenager, funny and banal stories to get the kids through their dinner. As Abraham detailed one summer vacation at the beach, where Steve got his first driving lesson from his adoptive sister Kimberly, Natasha was giggling too hard to chew. Even Clint was smiling by the end.

After everyone had eaten, James got the children to help him clear the table. When Clint said he didn't want to, James pointed out that children in the books did chores, which got Clint moving, albeit grudgingly.

As the children helped James tidy up, Steve and Abraham sat at the table, talking in low voices. James pretended to pay them no mind, focusing instead on the children. Clint and Natasha put the dishes in the dishwasher while James scraped the leftovers into containers. There was a brief tussle over which of them could start the dishwasher, which James solved by making them push the button together.

"That wasn't any fun," Natasha told her father as the machine started to grumble.

"Next time, we can always wash the dishes by hand," he replied.

"Can we?" Clint asked, his eyes wide. "I never done that before."

"You kids can wash the dishes tomorrow morning," James promised, making a mental note to dig out the plastic dishes from the basement. "Now, what are we going to have for dessert?"

Clint and Natasha went to pull the ice cream from the freezer as James put on another pot of coffee. Whatever Abraham and Steve were discussing had wrapped up by this point, and Abraham left the room while Steve came over to James' side.

"You okay?" James asked.

"No." Steve rested his hip against the counter. "Fuck, I was not expecting this today."

 _This_ no doubt meant Clint's hearing problems, not Abraham. "It's better to know about it, so you can deal with it," James pointed out.

"I know." Steve ran his hand through his hair. "I wish I knew what to do."

"You do what you need to, that's all."

"Yeah." Steve took a deep breath. "Abraham and I were talking about putting Clint in sign language class."

James closed the lid on the coffee grounds. "It's a good time for it," he said. "While he's still young."

"Yeah." Steve took another breath, his body tense, and if he didn't just spit out what was bugging him James was going to hit the man. "I'm going to take the classes too. And I was wondering, I mean, if you and Natasha would want to…"

James punched Steve in the shoulder. "Of course we will," he said, swallowing on a lump in his throat. "You know we will."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, I know."

Across the room, Clint and Natasha were discussing which ice cream to have for dessert. James said, "When do these classes start?"

"Hell if I know. I'll talk to Clint's paediatrician, see if he has any ideas."

"We should ask Skye."

"Why?"

"Skye knows everything," James pointed out. "And there may be some stuff at the university that she can hook us up with, studies or something. You talk to St. Ursula's yet about Clint next year?"

"I've got a meeting with Ms. Green after we get back from vacation," Steve said, the tension seeping out of his posture. "She said the kids' teacher already knows about Clint's hearing, and they're ready to make accommodations."

"With how much we pay in tuition, they damned well better be ready," James said, putting the coffee container away.

With a shuffling step, Abraham came back into the room. Suddenly self-conscious at how close he was standing to Steve, James moved to go get spoons. "Now," Abraham was saying, "Who wants a present?"

The children's screams were answer enough.

* * *

When it was time for Abraham to leave, Steve carried the man's suitcases out to the car, while Natasha and Clint took turns hugging Abraham goodbye on the front step. "Now," Abraham said after his fourth hug. "You still have your presents?"

The children nodded, Clint clutching his stuffed octopus, Natasha holding tight to her squeaky shark toy. James had already thanked the man for including Natasha in the presents, to which Abraham had responded that he was glad he hadn't been able to decide which gift to give Clint.

"Now, you be good for your fathers, and have a good time at the beach."

"When you gonna come back for dinner?" Clint asked.

"I will talk to your father about coming for a visit before school starts," Abraham promised. "Now, I have to drive home."

The children crowded back in for another hug. Steve came up the steps, wiping his hands on his trousers. "All set to go," he said as Abraham stood up. "Give me a call when you get home safe, okay?"

"Ah, how the tables turn," Abraham said with a chuckle. He got a back-slapping hug from Steve, then he turned to James. "Thank you for a wonderful evening," he said as he shook James' hand.

"Come by anytime," James said. "And have a good time in Atlantic City."

"There is much fun to be had at a conference," Abraham said, turned away with what might have been a wink. "Good night, children, good night!"

The four of them stayed on the steps to wave Abraham off as he started his car and drove away. As the old sedan puttered away around the corner, James sat on the top step and let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked, squeezing her shark to make it squeak.

James sighed again for effect. "I am a tired old man," he said. "I need a nap."

"I don't need a nap," Clint said, plopping down beside James.

"Me either," Natasha chimed in.

Steve sank onto the step beside James. "I could use a hundred naps," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I can't believe we only have a week until we leave for the Hamptons."

"That's forever," Natasha pointed out as she squeaked her toy in James' ear. "A whole week."

"How many times is that?" Clint asked as he looked at his watch.

"The little hand has to go around the watch fourteen times," James said.

Clint made a face. "That's too long. Let's go now."

James met Steve's eyes. He could tell that Steve was considering it, just dropping everything and bailing for the beach. In that moment, James wanted to just take the kids and run away for a week, just the four of them hiding away from the world.

Then he sighed. "No can do, peanut," James said. "Your dad has to work tomorrow and I have a lot to do before we can leave."

"But if we go now, then my birthday will come sooner," Clint tried to argue.

James stood up. "Nice try. You're not getting your presents until your real birthday."

"Daddy," Natasha said as she slipped her hand into James'. "Can I have a present too?"

"On Clint's birthday? That's not how it works, Nat, and you know that."

Natasha pouted all the way into the house.

* * *

Later that night, when the kids were tucked into their beds, Natasha in her room and Clint in the guest room, James and Steve sat in the living room, planning the trip to the Hamptons.

"So you think we can head out from here?" Steve was saying from the couch, a cold beer in his hand.

"Yeah. I mean, it's only two hours away, we don't need to leave until after ten."

"Why so late?"

"Excuse me," James said, shifting around on the armchair to look at Steve. "Have you _met_ our kids?" It's going to take me an hour to get them cleaned up after breakfast."

"Good point." Steve took one last look at his list, then tossed it to the coffee table. "So we leave on Friday, Clint's birthday is on Saturday, and then we have a whole week there."

"In Tony Stark's oceanfront mansion."

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" James asked, reaching for his own beer.

"It means we're staying in the carriage house. I mean, it was probably never a carriage house, Tony's old man built the place in the fifties, but it's this small guest house away from the main house. It's small, but it'll be good for us."

At least it wasn't a tent on the beach. "And you said the pool has a gate around it?"

"Yes. The pool and the hot tub."

"Man, life in the lap of luxury," James said. He sank back into the chair. "It's okay, right, that we're doing this?"

Steve frowned at James. "Of course it is," he said. "Tony keeps the place up, it's not dangerous or anything."

"Spending a week at Tony Stark's beach house," James muttered to himself. Not bad for a couple of kids from the old neighbourhood.

That, of course, got him thinking about Abraham. The man had called Steve an hour previous, on his arrival home, and they had talked for some time while James did some work.

James had always wondered what it was like, Steve's new life, but now, seeing Abraham with Steve and with Clint, James was glad that Abraham had found his way into Steve's life, even if that meant James had to lose Steve in the process.

Maybe it was better, this way.

"Was it a good life, in Jersey?" James asked.

Steve took a pull on his beer. "Yeah," he said after a minute. "Abraham… he gave me a home. I missed that, after my mom died."

"Yeah," James said. He stared up at the darkened ceiling. "It's good, that."

"Yeah."

The room was quiet for a minute or two, then James said, unable to help himself, "I missed you, though."

Steve's reply was almost a whisper. "I missed you too, Bucky. A lot."

James closed his eyes. It had taken him over twenty years to find Steve again, and he'd do anything to keep his best friend in his life.

Well. Almost anything.


	16. Summertime (and the living is easy): Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: Summertime by [Ella Fitzgerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2bigf337aU) (this version is from a live performance in 1968 and if you've never heard Ella sing live, you should) or by [Miles Davis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgmEY41baKM) (instrumental).

* * *

James pulled the jeep to a halt in front of the metal gate. Staring up at the imposing iron edifice, he asked, "Okay, now what?"

"Try the intercom," Steve said, pointing at the metal box off to the left of the vehicle.

"Are we there yet?" Natasha whined from the backseat.

"My legs hurt!" Clint added.

James took a deep breath. Over two hours in the car with three other people, all of whom were surprisingly _loud_ , had him near the end of his rope. "Fine," he said as he put the jeep into park, turned off the engine, and undid his seatbelt.

"Why are you doing that?" Steve asked as James opened the driver's side door.

"The arm goes stiff if it's still for too long," James said, holding up his prosthesis. If the mechanical arm had not been in sleep mode, James might have considered giving Steve the finger.

"My leg's asleep!" Clint yelled from the backseat.

"My tongue's asleep!" Natasha shouted, then ruined the effect by breaking into giggles.

At least the kids were in a good mood. Leaving the jeep door open, James pushed the button on the intercom. The box gave a _buzz_ , then nothing. James bent over to look at Steve in the jeep. "If they ain't here, I am _not_ driving all the way back to Brooklyn."

"Lucy said she'd be here all morning," Steve said, scrolling through his phone. "If she doesn't answer in a minute, I'll call her."

"My brain's asleep," Clint moaned.

"Does that mean you're ready for a nap?" James asked. Clint closed his mouth with a snap.

Thankfully, before Natasha could pick up the backseat tirade, the intercom crackled. "Stark Residence."

"Oh, hey," James said. "It's James Barnes. I think we're expected."

"Hi, Lucy!" Steve yelled from inside the jeep. "It's Steve!"

"Oh, hello dear," the voice said, warming considerably. "Let me just take a look at you on the security screen."

As Steve waved at the shiny black bulb positioned at the top of the gate, James looked around at the gate blocking the view of Tony Stark's beach house. On first glance, all James could make out were the old gate and the rusty intercom. But on second look, after remembering the make and model of that surveillance camera, James gave the area a closer look.

In spite of himself, he was impressed. The camera at the gate was the most obvious, but several small inconspicuous cameras were positioned along the metal grating to give a three-sixty view of the road leading up to the gate. The gate itself, metal braced with rough-hewn stone, was a solid piece of architecture with its foundations buried in the earth. The fence wouldn't be able to keep the most determined intruder out, but combined with the surveillance system (James suspected the gate had motion and pressure sensors built in; it's what he would have recommended), unwanted guests wouldn't get very far without being detected.

James' estimation of Tony Stark went up a few notches.

The gate began to open, making James hurry back to the jeep. "Drive on down to the right," the intercom said. "I'll be down in a little while to welcome you."

"Thanks," James said, starting the jeep and putting it into gear without bothering with his seatbelt. "Lucy?" he asked Steve.

"Tony's housekeeper," Steve said. He rolled his window down to let some of the sea breezes into the car. "Lucy's family has been working for Tony's for… well, decades."

As Steve spoke, James had rounded the bend in the wall, and he let the jeep roll to a halt. The emerald green of the lawn rolled out below them, a huge mansion off to the left and the small road splitting with one gravelly branch spiralling down and to the right. In front of them stretched the blue waters of the Atlantic.

"Wow," Natasha said from the backseat. "Daddy, is this where the president lives?"

"Nope," James said, swallowing his reaction at the excess. He'd worked on larger estates. Maybe it was that he didn't have to work while he was here, just relax.

He wasn't sure when he'd last had a real vacation. Certainly before joining the Army. Maybe even before Steve left Brooklyn.

"This is where Uncle Tony lives sometimes," Clint said. "Can I get out and walk?"

"Not yet," Steve said, as James took the hint and put the jeep back in motion. "We'll go unpack the car and then we can go for a walk, okay?"

Clint slumped over in his booster seat.

"Daddy," Natasha said. "I have to pee."

"You went pee in town," James pointed out as he followed the road down the hill. Large trees shaded the gravel road. "That was twenty minutes ago."

"I didn't pee all the way," Natasha said. "Just half of it."

"Well, then hold the other half because we'll be at the house in a minute."

"I can pee in a jar," Clint said helpfully.

"That's not fair!" Natasha exclaimed. "Why do boys have all the fun?"

Thankfully, the road opened up on a small white-painted house, tucked back against a treed hill. "Tell me this is it," James said under his breath to Steve.

"Yup," Steve replied. As soon as the jeep came to a halt, Steve unbuckled his seat belt, flung his door open and went to help Natasha out of her booster seat. "Come on, let's get you to a bathroom."

"Okay!" Natasha yelled, scrambling to the ground. "Daddy, I'm going to go to the bathroom, don't have any fun without me!"

"I'll do my best." James put the car in park, engaged the emergency brake, and turned off the engine for good. The sudden stillness rang in his ears.

He'd been driving for over two hours, eyes on the road while Steve engaged the children in road games and stories. They'd stopped twice for bathroom breaks, once by Melville and then again in Southampton. Even then, Steve had been the one to take the kids in to the bathroom while James waited in the car. It wasn't planned, exactly, but James could not leave the vehicle in an unfamiliar spot where anyone could get at it.

He was aware that this was exactly the type of behavior he'd fallen into when he'd first gotten back from Iraq, after he'd lost his arm, but he couldn't bring himself to walk away from the vehicle. He'd just told Steve that he was fine, just take the kids and hurry up, he wanted to get back on the road.

Now, behind Tony Stark's iron gates with state of the art security cameras monitoring the road, James could breathe enough to leave the car unattended.

With a groan, James opened his door and stepped out. From the backseat, Clint called, "Can I get out yet?"

"Yes," James said, pulling open the door on Clint's side. "Is your leg really asleep?"

"No," Clint said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I just said that. It was pretend." With that, he climbed to the ground. "Can I go play?"

"Not yet," James said. "First, we need to off-load at our base camp. Then we do a safety orientation and then you can play."

"Aw, man," Clint grumbled, but he followed James to the jeep's back hatch to be loaded up with his backpack and pillow. "Where are we gonna sleep?"

"Hopefully somewhere soft," James said. He braced himself to pull out the heavy suitcase that held his and Natasha's gear. "Run that into the house, Clint, and come back for another load."

"Chores are boring," Clint informed James before taking off in the direction of the house.

With the boy safely out of the way, James next removed Steve's large black sports bag, then a long black case. It reminded James acutely of his sniper rifle case, but Steve had sworn it contained Clint's birthday surprise.

In fact, Steve had been a little too gleeful about this mystery present, but James supposed he'd find out what it was the next day.

As he was pulling another of Steve's bags from the car, the children erupted from the house in a cacophony of sound, Steve close on their heels. "Daddy!" Natasha yelled as she ran to his side. "The bathtub is _so big_!"

"Good," James said. "You will be the cleanest little girl ever." He swung Natasha's backpack into her arms. "Help Clint carry stuff inside."

"Can we go swimming now?" Natasha asked, not moving.

"Not yet." James turned back to the jeep. "We unload, then do the safety check."

"Safety check is _boring_ ," Natasha informed her father before going over to help Clint drag one of the bags into the house.

Steve, in the meantime, was gathering up armfuls of stuff. "We have to go grocery shopping," he said as he gripped the handle of the long black case. "Unless the grocery store delivers."

James pulled the last bag from the jeep and closed the hatch. "We'll figure it out."

His attention was only half on the conversation, while he concentrated on acting normal until Steve had gone into the house. Then, without an audience, James could pick up the remaining luggage to haul it toward the house. Even though his prosthesis was functioning normally, carrying weight on the metal arm was not pleasant. Over the years, James had come up with work-arounds to function like a normal human being; most of which involved more contorted strain on his spine than was good for a man his age.

Thankfully, Steve was nowhere to be seen as James staggered into the house. To the soundtrack of the kids running up and down the single flight of stairs, James let the bags slide onto the couch by the fireplace. He took a few deep breaths, letting his vertebrate re-sort themselves, as he looked around what Tony Stark considered a carriage house.

The main level was wide and open, combining a kitchen along one wall with a round dining table, and a loveseat and armchair in front of a huge fireplace. The staircase led up the beach-side wall, up to a recessed loft overlooking the open area. In addition to the main doorway, two wide glass doors opened out onto the beach.

It was almost perfect.

"Daddy!" Natasha yelled, hopping down the last two stairs. "Daddy, come see the bathroom!"

"In a minute, sweet pea." James deftly detached her grasping fingers from his jeans pocket. "Where's Steve?"

"Here," the man said, appearing at the head of the stairs. "I had to put away the stuff." As he made it to the bottom step, he frowned. "I was coming back, I could have gotten the rest of the luggage."

The comment dug into James' gut. James straightened his back without wincing at the spasm along his spine. "I got it."

"But—"

"I said I got it," James said sharply. "Where are the bedrooms?"

Steve was staring at him, something in his blue eyes that made James turn away. "Upstairs," was all Steve said.

"We'll show you," Natasha said immediately, taking James' hand. Clint put his hands around James' prosthetic wrist. "Come on!"

"Yeah, come on," Clint echoed, and James found himself being herded up the narrow staircase to the second level.

The ceiling up here was low by modern standards. James took in the landing, with a worn sofa against one wall, as the children pulled him to the open door of one room. "This is my room!" Natasha declared, letting go of James' hand to take a leap onto one of the twin beds. "This is where Bear will sleep!"

"And Floppy," Clint put in, crawling onto the other twin bed. "Not me. I'm not sleepy."

"It's a very nice room," James said, stepping inside to poke around. The small closet held no secret crawlspaces, and the window looking out over the ocean had a solid latch and opened easily. Good lines of escape in case of fire. "Okay, show me what else you got."

Natasha's next stop was the bathroom, a room larger than James thought possible from the house's exterior. The room, unlike the rest of the house, had been recently remodelled, and held a huge bathtub and a separate shower.

"Look, Daddy, candles!" Natasha squealed, running to the raised tiling between the tub and the sink. "Can I have a candle?"

"It's the middle of the day," James hedged. "Too bright for candles." He made a mental note to hide all candles and matches when the kids were occupied. "What else is there?"

"There's a toilet downstairs," Clint contributed. "But no tub. Only for if you have to _pee_." He let out a snort of laughter.

"I'll keep that in mind, peanut," James said, ruffling Clint's hair. "Come on, let's go get our stuff."

It seemed that Steve had carried everything up to the landing while James had been occupied with the children. Now, the man was hovering anxiously as James came back out to the landing. "So," Steve said, then stopped.

James narrowed his eyes at the man. There was only one other door on the house's second level, opening onto a small room with one bed. "What?"

Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I'll take the couch out here," he said. He looked slightly embarrassed, which didn't make any sense to James.

"I thought you'd been here before."

"I've stayed in the main house before," Steve corrected. "I only ever walked past this place. I thought it had more bedrooms."

James went to grab his suitcase. "I'd've thought Stark would've done things bigger than this."

Steve relaxed. "Tony can get a little weird about this place," he said, joining James by the luggage. "This estate was his dad's, so… yeah. History."

James unzipped the suitcase. His problems with his father, combined with Steve's dad running out on his mother before Steve was even born, was enough daddy issues for one vacation. "We can figure it out no problem, right?"

Steve's sudden smile was blinding, and James had to turn away. "No kidding." Steve turned around. "Hey, kids, come get your stuff!"

The children stampeded out of their bedroom, footsteps loud on the wooden floor. "Daddy, where's Bear?" Natasha asked anxiously, nearly climbing into the open suitcase. "I need to put Bear to bed. It's his naptime."

"Here." James handed over the stuffed toy, no worse the wear for the journey in the enclosed space. "And let's put your clothes in the closet, okay?"

Clint was trying to drag the sports bag to the small room. "I'll help you, Dad!" the boy was saying.

"No, Clint, I'll be sleeping out here," Steve started to say, but James stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I'll sleep out here," James said. "I'm good on rough surfaces."

"No, I said I'd take it—"

" _Steve_." James waited until the children were busy in their room before continuing. "I'll stay out here. Better to keep an eye on the place."

Steve stared at James. "The couch isn't very comfortable."

"Just…" James let his hand drop from Steve's arm. Frustration stirred in his gut, knowing that he couldn't explain, and that even if he did, Steve wouldn't _get_ it. "I'll sleep better out here."

He waited for Steve to push back, to make some oblivious comment about good behaviour or something _civilian_ , but Steve just gave a nod. "If you want to switch out, let me know."

James breathed in, feeling as if he'd run a mile. Steve went to move his bags into the small bedroom. Alone for the first time since New York, James sat on the couch and let the weight of his prosthesis rest on his leg. He had thought that the strain would ease up once he stopped driving, but things were just getting worse. He was in this unfamiliar place, and he didn't know how safe things were, his daughter was here with him, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. What normal people did.

So he pulled out his phone. There was one text from Skye, saying that she was settled in for her week of house-sitting, and three emails. Two were from Maria about work. He quickly skimmed them, saw there was nothing urgent, and went on to the third. It was from Natasha's school, asking him to update her medical records for the nurse before the new school year began.

James tossed his phone onto the couch and went to help the kids. Luckily, two children at the beach didn't have much luggage, and in a few minutes their room was squared away. Steve appeared in the doorway as James was hanging Natasha's party dress in the closet to her satisfaction. "Everything's done," Steve said, scooping Clint up to toss the boy over his shoulder. "You can use my dresser if you want to put your clothes away."

"I'm fine," James said. Nothing on earth could have made him put his clothes away in Steve's bedroom. Where Steve would sleep. "All right, who's ready for a nap?"

"No naps!" Natasha exclaimed. "Big kids do not nap!"

"Only babies nap," Clint put in, wiggling out of Steve's grasp. "Babies and _old people_."

"Then I'm just in time," James said as he closed the closet door. "Fine, if we're not napping, how about we figure out what we're going to do for lunch?"

"I want to go swimming!" Natasha complained as she and Clint were herded out onto the landing. "Daddy, there's all that water right there!"

James was saved from having to answer this plea by a knock at the door. At the sound, Clint stopped dead on the stairs. Natasha cannoned into him, and James nearly tripped over the pair of them. Steve, who had been bringing up the rear, slipped past the chaos on the stairs and ran across to open the door.

"Hi, Lucy," Steve said warmly, stepping aside.

"Hello, dear." The woman was short and cheerful, middle-age with grey-streaked brown hair and rosy cheeks. "How good to see you again." She stepped into the house, an honest-to-god picnic basket over her arm. "Chef is up at the house today, he made some sandwiches for the little ones."

"Sandwiches?" Natasha echoed, perking up. She and Clint bounced down the last few steps over to the woman's side. "Is there cheese?"

"There certainly is." The woman sat in a chair, bending over to speak to the children. "I'm Lucy. And who might you be?"

"I'm Natasha Barnes," Natasha said loudly. "I'm five and a half, but I'm almost six."

"I'm Clint and I'm six tomorrow!" Clint put in. "It's my birthday!"

"Good for both of you," Lucy said, smiling at the pair. "Now, do you need to wash your hands before you eat?"

"No," Natasha said immediately.

"Yes," James contradicted. "And the faster you do that, the faster you can eat. Hop to it."

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, but she and Clint ran to the little door at the back of the main level, pushing it open to reveal a tiny bathroom.

Lucy stood. "Lucy Jarvis," she said, holding out her hand to James.

He took it and shook. "James Barnes," he said. "Thanks for lunch, you didn't have to do that."

Lucy waved the comment away. "It's very quiet around here these days," she said as she began to unpack the picnic basket. "This gives us something to do."

Out of the basket came a tupperware case of sandwiches, another of sliced vegetables, followed by a covered tin that James suspected contained cookies.

"The pool cleaners came by yesterday and everything is ready for those little ones, pool nice and scrubbed and not too much chlorine," Lucy went on. "There are towels in the pool house, just hang them up to dry when you're done. Valerie and Constanza come in on weekdays, they'll get to them then." The woman pulled an envelope out of the picnic basket. "Now, here are your gate passes, and keys to the carriage house." She handed the envelope to James. "If you ever want to visit the main house, just give me a call or ring the bell, I live on the premises."

"How's your dad doing?" Steve asked, over the sound of the returning children. "Kids, sit down and we'll eat."

"My father is doing as well as can be expected." Lucy helped the children open the sandwich container. Inside lay a pile of tiny slider buns. "He's over ninety," she said to James. "Still has all his faculties, bless him, but a little shaky on his feet. His nurse comes in during the day, but otherwise it's just him and me."

"We'll keep out of your way," James said. "Natasha, Clint, thank Ms. Jarvis for bringing us lunch."

"Thank you," said Clint around a mouthful of tiny sandwich.

"Thank you," Natasha echoed. She grinned up at Lucy, baby teeth white and shining, before she ruined the cute effect by opening her jaw and cramming an entire slider into her mouth.

"You're quite welcome," Lucy said. She took a piece of paper from the picnic basket before closing it up. "Here's a map of town. Steve mentioned you'll be doing your own shopping."

"That's the plan," James said. He took the map. "It's nice of you doing this. You didn't have to."

Lucy waved her hand. "Things can be a little dull down here, these days." She picked up the basket. "I'll see you later in the week. Goodbye, children!"

"Bye!" came a muffled chorus. Steve showed the woman to the door, closing it behind her.

James looked down at the paper in his hand. On the hand-drawn map were identified various locations in town, including the grocery store, the boardwalk, the library, and a few named places that James assumed were restaurants.

He sighed. He had wanted to spend some time relaxing after the drive, but one of them would have to go grocery shopping and James had no idea how long that would take. So much for that vacation, he thought grimly.

As he tried to figure out what to say to Steve, the man was settling himself down at the table between the children, reaching for the vegetables. "How's lunch?" Steve asked.

"Good," Natasha said, taking another sandwich. "This is good cheese."

Clint nodded, reaching for his fourth slider. "Can we have tiny sandwiches for every lunchtime?" he asked.

"We'll see what we feel like," Steve said. He crunched down on a celery stick. "Bucky, you hungry?"

James shook off his malaise and went to the table. "I was thinking about what we should do after lunch," he said in aside to Steve, but Clint, who was sitting with his good ear towards James, perked up at the question.

"I say, swimming!" the boy shouted.

"Yeah, I wanna go swimming too," Natasha added. She put her half-eaten sandwich on her napkin and pushed it over to her father. "I'm full."

Before James could reply, Steve sat back with a dramatic sigh. "You know, before we go swimming, I think we should check this place out," he said to the kids. "Did you know that there's a huge beach where nobody goes?"

"Why not?" Natasha asked.

"Capitalism," Steve said, which puzzled Natasha but made James roll his eyes. "There's a lot of sand, and a long spit that goes far out into the ocean. Tony's father bought this parcel of land because the spit is a danger to boats," Steve went on, more to James. "He didn't want a lot of visitors."

"How's the undercurrent?" James asked. He picked up Natasha's sandwich and ate it in one bite. Natasha was right; this was a damned fine sandwich. James suspected the cook had used a lot of butter. "You know. If the kids want to go in."

"It's fine for a bit, until the water gets up to my chest." Steve put his hand to measure a spot just below his pectorals. "Then the shelf drops off and the current kicks in."

Great. Deceptively safe until the kids would be unable to help themselves. James wiped his fingers on the napkin. "Clint, Natasha, can we have a grown-up talk for a few minutes?"

Natasha, who had been trying to pry open the cookie tin, sat back and nodded. Clint swallowed his mouthful, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and waited.

"You know how sometimes you hear grown-ups tell you lots of things and make you follow lots of rules?" James asked.

"Yeah," Clint said. "That's _boring_."

"Grown-ups talk a lot," Natasha put in.

"You're right," James agreed. "For this trip, though, because you're both getting so very big, we only have one rule."

"We do?" Steve said wonderingly. Belatedly, James realized he should have had this conversation with Steve first, but things had been so hectic in the car, and besides, he didn't think Steve would disagree.

"Yes, the most important rule. It's—"

"I know!" Natasha interrupted, getting to her knees on her chair. "I know it!" She stuck her hand up, one finger raised. "Rule number one, is safety first!"

"That's right, Nat," James said. "Safety is the most imp—"

"Rule number two!" Natasha went on, cutting her father off. She now had two fingers up. "Is no hitting!"

"I like that rule," Clint said. "Hitting makes people sad."

"And we don't want to be sad." Natasha's third finger went up. "Rule number three!"

"How many rules are there?" Steve asked James.

James, who had an inkling where this was coming from, said, "I think six."

Natasha shushed her father. "Rule three is that when you don't get to do something one day, you don't get sad, because maybe you do that thing tomorrow." She turned to face James. "Like because I don't go to Disneyland today, I don't get sad. Because I will go _tomorrow_." Her green eyes flashed with intensity.

"Some day tomorrow," James agreed. "What's rule number four?"

Natasha pried up her baby finger and stuck her hand in Clint's face. "Rule four means eat good food and not candy because your tummy will be sad and you will cry."

"Not candy?" Clint said in bewilderment. "Why's candy against the rules?"

"She means that we don't eat candy for meals," James said. He knew now what Natasha was talking about, but he'd be damned if he knew how she remembered all this. "Candy is a treat, so we have it on a special occasion."

"Remember how we talked about a 'sometimes' food?" Steve asked.

Clint's expression cleared. "Candy is a food we eat _sometimes_ ," he informed Natasha. "And chips, and popcorn, and ice cream, and pizza."

"What about soda pop?" Natasha asked. "I can have soda pop once a time a year."

Clint shrugged. "I like juice best anyway."

Natasha grinned. "Me too!"

"Hands up if you like juice," James said. He and Steve put their hands up, and so did Natasha, but Clint flung both hands in the air. The kids burst out laughing. "All right, Natasha, that's four rules. What are the other two?"

"Hrm." Natasha made a show of thinking. "Rule number five says that if you do a bad thing, you're not a bad girl. You just stop doing the bad thing, because you are a good girl!"

The smile on Steve's face slid away at this. "What do you mean?" he asked Natasha in a quiet voice.

She turned on him, her lips pursed in concentration. "Sometimes you make a mistake and that's wrong," she told Steve. "You didn't mean to do a bad thing. But Daddy said so, everyone makes a mistake. And that's okay. You are a good person!"

James slid his chair closer to Natasha's so he could pull his daughter onto his lap. "You're right, Nat." He kissed her hair. "If someone makes a mistake, that doesn't make them a bad person. Every time we make a mistake, we learn from it. And growing up is just learning new things."

"That's right." Natasha turned to plant a big kiss on James' cheek. "Because I'm not a bad girl. I'm a good girl!"

James put his arm around Natasha. "You certainly are not." He gave her a squeeze, making her exclaim in protest. "Same with you, Clint. You're a good kid. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

"Okay." Clint wiped his nose on his bare arm. "Are there any more rules? I thought there was just one."

"What's the last rule?" James asked Natasha, letting her go. She climbed back onto her chair, smoothing her hair down indignantly.

"Rule number six means that Daddy's the grown-up, so only he gets to be the cowboy."

Steve's eyebrows shot up as Clint pouted. "Can't I be a cowboy?" the boy asked.

"Natasha, that means that I'm the adult so I'll do the adult stuff, you get to be a kid," James said. "I'll worry about the groceries and the property taxes. You play dinosaurs and stuff."

Natasha spread her arms wide. "So why's there a cowboy?" she demanded.

"The cowboy's not a person," James said. He sat back. "The saying is, cowboy up. It means act like a grownup."

"But I want to be a cowboy," Clint repeated.

"You can be the kid cowboy." James ran his hand through his hair. "Can we go back to the first rule? About being safe?" The kids nodded. "We're in a new place, and sometimes in a new place there are things that can be dangerous. And one of the things that can be dangerous for children, even grown-up ones, is going into the water without an adult."

"I won't," Clint promised immediately. However, all Natasha did was to avert her eyes from James' face.

"Guys, I'm serious." He put his hand on Natasha's back. "This is the only big rule. And you're both old enough to understand that breaking rules can have consequences."

"Like what?" Clint asked.

James waited until Natasha was looking at him again. "If either of you go to the pool or the ocean without me or Steve with you, we're going home. No second chances."

Clint got to his knees to process this, while Natasha glowered at her father. "You're mean!" she declared.

"No, I'm not." James took his hand back. "Nat, swimming alone isn't safe. For anyone," he added, in case she started in on the grown-up angle. "For the next ten days while we're here, if you want to go to the beach or to the pool, Steve or I will go with you."

"What if we don't go in the water?" Clint asked, chewing on his finger. "What if we just stand there and look?"

"No." James turned to face Clint, and caught sight of Steve's expression. _Shit._ "Clint, me and your dad, we both love to swim and any time you want to go play in the water, we'll go with you."

"Any time?" Clint pressed.

"Any time during the day, and not after bed time or during meal time," James said, resigning himself to a vacation poolside.

"What if I want to go to the beach and Natasha doesn't?"

"We have two kids and two adults," Steve said. He turned to his son. "Bucky's right, Clint. Safety first. Any time you want to go near the water, even to look, you come tell me and I'll go with you."

"What about me?" Natasha asked, still glaring.

"Same with you," Steve said. "You only started swimming a few months ago, remember? You can always use a little more practice with someone who can swim with you."

"But Daddy can't swim," Natasha protested. "It's not _fair._ "

"I can swim," James said. "Steve took you to swim lessons because he's better at that stuff." He pushed his chair back. "Now, why don't you two run upstairs and put on your bathing suits and we can go for a walk down to the beach, okay?"

Clint jumped off his chair and bolted for the stairs. Natasha, moving slower so she could draw out the death-glare at her father, followed.

That left Steve and James in the kitchen, and now Steve was also glaring at James. "What?" James demanded, standing up to clear the table.

"You could have warned me you were going to tell the kids that," Steve said. He didn't move. "It's a big deal, telling them I'll be with them at the water."

"You and me," James corrected. He snapped the lid back over the rest of the sandwiches. "I can swim too, remember?"

"It's been a long time, maybe you don't do that anymore."

James put the container into the otherwise-empty fridge. "My kid needs me, I go in the water," he snapped. "I can't wear the arm, that's all."

Upstairs, a thud and a shriek, then Natasha called, "Daddy, where's my bathing suits?"

Not looking back at Steve, James mounted the stairs to help Natasha.

The worst part was, Steve was right. James should have talked to Steve first and he knew it. But it was too late now. He'd just have to deal with it.

After helping Natasha untangle her swimsuit in the drawer, James left the kids to change. On the landing, he rooted around in his suitcase until he found his new swim trunks. Tossing those onto the couch, James removed the prosthesis's charging station from the suitcase and set it against the wall out of harm's way. After plugging it into the wall, James sat back on his heels to pull his shirt over his head.

The arm was, in theory, waterproof, but water would get into the socket surrounding his arm almost immediately, causing rubbing, and chafing under the wet straps across his chest. So James would take the lesser evil, and walk around Tony Stark's massive estate without the prosthetic.

He could swim without it, that much he knew. Part of his physiotherapy in the early days had included swimming, and James had gone to enough of those sessions to know he could swim for miles, just slower than before. If his daughter needed him in the water, he would not let her down.

James was in the middle of unbuckling the arm's straps when Steve came up the stairs. The man looked slightly less irritated that he had in the kitchen. "So," the man said. "Beach walk first?"

James eased the prosthesis off his arm stump. "Yeah, they should stretch their legs," he said, busying himself with setting the arm on the charging stand. "We can use the pool later this afternoon, after they've digested lunch."

"Yeah." Steve leaned against the railing. "What are we going to do about dinner?"

"I'll drive into town for groceries." James grabbed his swim trunks as he stood.

"We can all go."

"I can buy groceries on my own."

"I know you can." Steve's response was even and measured. James would have preferred if the man had been yelling. "But we're on vacation. There's no rush for anything."

James lifted his left arm to rub his chin. "You want to haul two excited kids into a grocery store?" he asked, finally looking at Steve. To his surprise, Steve appeared exhausted. "I mean, yeah, we could do that."

Steve smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes. "There's a candy store in town we can take them to, too," he said.

"Yeah." James held up his swimming trunks. "I should go…"

"Yeah."

James went into the bathroom, wondering what was going on in Steve's head, what was going on with him, why he felt so worried. It wasn't Natasha. She was old enough to understand the rules, and too young to spend her time testing his boundaries.

It was just… dread sat in the pit of his stomach, and James didn't know _why_.

* * *

The beach walk was, thankfully, a raving success. After enduring the application of sunscreen, the kids put on their hats and they all walked down the gravel path to the sandy beach. Clint walked right into the gently curling surf, declaring loudly (louder than usual, for Steve had made the boy leave his hearing aid in the house to avoid water damage) that this was the best vacation of his life, and he was never ever going home.

Natasha, however, took one look at the waves and grabbed James' hand. It took him ten minutes, and a practical demonstration on his part of going into the water up to his knees, to show her that the ocean was indeed safe, and she could venture in herself. In spite of all that, Natasha only dared go as far as her ankles, and ran shrieking whenever the next wave rushed towards her.

Steve was having a blast, playing with Clint and running around the beach with his ridiculously bounding stride. To James' relief (or disappointment, he wasn't sure which), Steve wore swim trunks that went half-way down his thighs, instead of the speedo he'd worn to Natasha's swim lessons. But at least he was bare-chested, which was all right.

(James was wearing an old t-shirt over his upper body, telling himself that it was easier than a one-armed man attempting to put on sunscreen. He was not about to ask Steve to rub the lotion on his back. He knew his own limits.)

Eventually, as the kids grew bolder in playing in the water, Steve fell in beside James. For a time, they walked in a pleasant silence, trailing in the children's wake.

"You remember having this much fun as kids?" Steve asked after a while. "When we went to the beach with your parents?"

James shrugged. "I remember bits," he said, keeping his eyes on the children. "Not a lot. But it was fun, with you."

"Yeah, it was," Steve said. James waited for him to go on, but the man just kicked at the sand. James shook the moment off, instead looking out at the wide open sea around them.

Stark's house was on a wide piece of land, hemmed in on one side by a rocky outcropping that went far out into the water. There was a small buoy floating at the end of the rocks to warn boats away from the hazard. On the other side of the estate, the sandy beach was marked with a white fence. Given the security in place on the estate's gates, James suspected that there were motion sensors and cameras on both markers.

On the sand, Natasha had grown bold enough to venture into the water up to her knees, with Clint egging her on. James, conscious of how the children usually lost their senses when this excited, started to walk in their direction. Steve caught up with him in a few steps.

"So," Steve said. "What was with those rules Natasha was talking about back in the house?"

James took in a deep breath, the clean air a refreshing change from the ambiance of Brooklyn. "Something I said to Maria, back before Natasha went to kindergarten."

"She remembered it pretty good, for so long ago."

"Nat remembers the oddest things." James broke off for a moment, watching the children as Clint made to go deeper into the water, but Natasha refused, shaking her head vehemently. After a half-hearted attempt at cajoling her, Clint relented and they went tearing off up the sand to look at some driftwood. "But yeah. Maria was over for lunch one day while we were working, and she said that I was doing a good job with Natasha."

"You are," Steve said quietly. "She's great."

Across the sand, Natasha was crouching down to look under a small log. She was so small, her pudgy tummy poking out between her bathing suit top and bottom, her floppy hat shadowing her face from the sun. "She makes it easy," James said. "She's a great kid."

"What does this have to do with those rules?"

"Oh, yeah." James shook his head. "Maria asked me how I'd been keeping up with parenting by myself, and I told her I had these rules to live by, and it made things…. Not easy. But it helped keep me focused."

"Let me guess. Safety first?"

"Safety first," James agreed. "Then, no hitting, although it's a hell of lot different than what Natasha means by it."

Clint let out a yell as he moved the log back on the sand, and Natasha pointed, then they both bent over the small depression in the sand.

"What about not doing something on one day?" Steve asked.

"I got that one from you, actually," James said. Steve looked surprised. "From when you were a kid, and you always wanted to be adopted. You'd say at the end of the weekend, it's not the end of the world. There's always tomorrow. Maybe something different would happen then."

Steve was staring at James now, something akin to a long-remembered hurt on his face, and James looked away, wondering if his honesty was a good idea. It was too late now, he supposed, to take it back.

"And it really helped me a lot, you know, remembering that when Nat was in the terrible twos. There's always tomorrow. Some days, with Nat and me at home, if she didn't change out of her PJs all day, or if all she ate was cereal and milk, it wouldn't do any good in freaking out about it. There was always tomorrow."

Before Steve could answer, the children ran up to them, brandishing handfuls of tiny shells. After a few minutes of appropriate appreciation, James convinced the kids to put the shells back under the log for safekeeping. Once the children had dashed away on their mission, James straightened his shoulders and tried to change the subject.

"And the rule about food, obviously, because Nat's deep desire for three meals of candy would make no one happy," he said after a minute. "Sometimes it was hard, you know, in getting her to eat anything that wasn't a chicken nugget, but I didn't make a big deal out of things and she didn't get fixated."

"Was she a picky eater?" Steve asked. He was holding one of the shells the kids had brought over, turning the delicate white shape over in his fingers.

"No. She doesn't like a few things, like raw mushrooms or vinegary salad dressing, but she'll mostly eat everything. Especially if I cover it in cheese."

"Clint's the same way," Steve said. He put the small shell into the pocket of his swim trunks. "I always thought it was funny, too, because that's about the only thing I was ready for before he was born."

"What, that he'd be a picky eater?"

"Yeah. I read a book and everything." At James' pointed look, Steve sighed in resignation. "I was some dumb kid who just found out he was going to have a baby, what did I know? But of course, Clint always ate everything. Right up until kindergarten started."

"He eats some vegetables," James offered.

"Yeah." Steve rubbed his hands through his hair. "But it's always, is it enough? Is he going to be okay? All that stuff."

"From the looks of things, he's not lacking in energy," James said. The children were now hopping in and out of the surf, calling out warnings to the other as the waves approached their feet. "He liked that coleslaw I made."

"I know he'll do fine," Steve said. "I never wanted to make food into a power struggle, you know? Not after what things were like for me in the system."

James did know. He remembered Steve's stories from when they were kids, of the foster home's _eat all your vegetables or no breakfast_ rule. Steve had famously gone without breakfast for over a month when they were eight, until James found out and started bringing his friend a spare sandwich in his lunch. Even at eight, James knew that Steve wasn't healthy, even if he didn't know exactly why. "Some of that stuff you went through, Steve, it wasn't right."

"I know." Steve's shoulders were hunched as he stared at the kids. "When Sharon suggested that I be part of Clint's life after he was born, I told myself that I was going to do the best job I could do, you know?"

Steve looked so forlorn, James couldn't help reaching out to put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You're doing a great job with Clint," James said, giving Steve's shoulder a squeeze. "The best job. I've never seen a kid as happy as Clint is."

Steve blinked hard. "Maybe as happy as Natasha," he said, smiling faintly at the playing children. "She's just so great, Bucky."

"She's the best."

"She's got a great dad." Steve pushed his toes into the sand, disturbing the smooth surf-flattened surface. "When I was a kid, I thought sometimes what it would be like if my father hadn't run out on Mom. We could have been a family, after Mom died." Glancing up, Steve caught James' expression. "I got over that when Clint was born. A man who ran out on his pregnant wife would have made a shitty father. I'm not saying foster care was great, but it could have been worse."

In a cloud of excited screams, the children descended on their fathers. "What are you doing?" Clint demanded, barrelling full-tilt into his father.

"We're talking about what exceptional parents we are," James said. "You've got a booger in your nose."

"I got no kleenex!" Clint exclaimed.

"Let me show you a trick I learned in the army." James showed the children how to blow snot out of his nose with his fingers, then wipe his hand on the sand. Natasha squealed in excited disgust, while Clint echoed the motion and ended up blowing a huge booger out of his nostril. "Now go wash your hands in the water."

"Daddy, you're gross!" Natasha informed him, tearing after Clint. "Gross!"

"That was pretty gross," Steve agreed as James stood up.

"Not as gross as you eating worms on a dare when we were nine," James pointed out. "That still makes me feel sick."

"You fell for that?" Steve said, laughing. "I palmed the worm. My social worker showed me that trick."

James turned around to stare at Steve. "Your social worker?" he repeated. "What, was he priming you for a life of crime?"

"Just trying to keep me interested," Steve said. The laugher slowly faded from his face. "What Nat said, about doing bad things doesn't make her a bad girl. Where did that come from?"

"From one of those parenting books." James scratched the skin on his left arm stump, the old scar covering the largest of the prosthesis's implants. "They all said the same thing, about kids acting out and looking for boundaries and for limits, and all I could think about was how Natasha didn't know what she was doing, she was only a baby. And I didn't want her to think she was ever a bad girl, you know? She's a good kid."

Steve was silent for a minute, watching the children. James in turn watched Steve. The man was perfect in the sunshine, his perfect hair and his perfect body and his perfect face. Only the faint sadness in his eyes marred the picture. James wondered what the man was remembering, what was pulling him out of this moment on the beach.

Eventually, however, Steve shook off his stillness. "Do I even need to ask about the cowboy?" he asked, trying to smile.

James was not fooled. But he had also had days when the echo of memory was almost too loud to bear, and no amount of talking would solve anything. "Daddy's the grown-up, so he needs to cowboy up."

"Ah." It might have been a trick of the light, but James thought that Steve quickly gave James a once over. On second thought, it must have been a trick of the light. "You'd look good in a ten-gallon hat."

James snorted. "I look good in anything," he replied, all the while thinking wistfully that if Steve had been gay, James might have thought he was flirting. But that was never going to happen. "It's getting a bit late," he said to change the subject.

"Want to head into town soon?" Steve asked.

"It's a good time for it," James agreed, noticing how the sun was beginning to head west in the sky. "Do you think we'll be able to pull them away?"

"With the promise of candy, anything is possible," Steve said, grinning as he took off towards the children at a run. The tall man entered the waves at an angle, sending up splashes of water with every stride. The children shrieked in protest, then shrieked some more when Steve picked them both up, one with each arm, and ran back up the beach to James.

"Nice catch," James said. "Do you think we should throw them back?"

"Nah, let's keep 'em." Steve set the kids down. "Hey, guess what we're going to do now?"

"Go to the pool!" Clint shouted, flinging his hands up in excitement. Natasha jumped around in delight.

"No, we're going into town to go shopping," James said. Clint dropped his hands. Natasha stopped jumping.

"No, Daddy, we have to go to the pool!" Natasha protested.

"We have to go shopping for food, then we can come back and go to the pool. Come on, let's go get ready."

Dejected, Clint followed Steve up the beach, but Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and glowered up at her father. "I don't want to!"

"You need to eat, and we don't have any food." James held out his hand. "Come on."

Natasha didn't move.

"Natasha, come on, let's go."

James let his hand drop. "Natasha, what's going on?"

"You _said_ we could play in the pool!" Natasha exclaimed. "I want to play in the pool!"

James took a deep breath. Parenting, he was reminded, was not for those short on patience. "We will play in the pool after we get back from the store," he said. "But the longer you stand out here, the longer it'll take us in town, and then you won't get to play in the pool for as long."

From the strength of her glare, James could tell that Natasha was unimpressed by this logic.

Fine. James crouched down so he was on Natasha's level. "Nat, you know that we all have responsibilities," he said seriously. "And we made a deal when you turned four, that I'd always take you to the grocery store, and you'd always get a say in what food we eat. Now that you're older—"

"I'm five and a half," Natasha said darkly.

"Now that you are five and a half," James went on, "It's even more important."

"But _why_?"

"Because you're part of this family, and you get a say in what happens. That also means you have responsibilities."

Natasha stomped her feet on the sand. "But I want to play in the pool!"

James pressed his lips together, digging deep for just a little more patience. "And you will play in the pool, when we get back." He glanced up the beach, where Steve stood, Clint sitting up on his shoulders. "We all go, and we all come back. The four of us."

Natasha uncrossed her arms to fling them wide in frustration. "You're mean," she declared.

"I'm not mean, and that's not a nice thing to say." James stood up. "Will you take my hand or do I have to carry you?"

With one more dark glare, Natasha held her arms out. Stifling a sigh, James bent over to let Natasha put her arms around his neck, then scooped her up with his arm and off they went, Natasha sulking silently the whole time.

* * *

Thankfully, Natasha didn't pull her delaying act at the house. Salty feet were rinsed, clothes were changed, prosthetic limbs and hearing aids put on, and in less than half an hour everyone was piled back into the jeep. In the backseat, Clint and Natasha were deep in strategy for their upcoming visit to the candy store, while James drove as Steve navigated off Lucy's map.

The grocery store was an upscale market with artfully worn decoration, and James could already feel the upcoming hit to his wallet. He supposed it was too late to head out in search of the place the locals shopped.

Clint and Natasha bounced all the way into the store, their equilibrium restored. Steve followed close on their heels, careful to lend a steadying hand before they could crash into anything.

James looked around for a shopping cart, but could only find one half-sized cart beside a tall stack of hand-held baskets. James hadn't been able to use a hand-held basket since he'd lost his arm, so he took hold of the cart's handle, willing his metal hand to close tight around the bar, before heading off in search of the rest.

Natasha and Clint had zeroed in on the store's juice bar, their little hands clutching the counter as they waited impatiently for the clerk to pour out some green concoction into tiny sample cups. Steve had a hand on each child's shoulder, keeping them from diving for the samples. James waited far enough back to avoid being pulled into the crowd. After a few minutes, the children emerged, triumphantly carrying their sample cups.

"What's that?" James asked. Up close, the drink resembled the green scummy puddle water James remembered from one of his Afghanistan missions.

"It's a smoothie," Natasha informed her father.

"With green stuff." Clint sniffed the drink, then delicately stuck his tongue into the liquid. The change in the boy's expression, from anticipation to disgust, told James all he needed to know about the drink. "Yuck."

Natasha took a tentative sip, then made a face. "Daddy, this is gross," she said, holding out the cup in his direction. "You can have it."

"Why, thank you." James took Natasha's sample cup and knocked it back. It wasn't bad; he'd certainly had worse while in the Army, but the underlying bitterness of whatever vegetables it contained would certainly not appeal to the kids' taste buds.

Steve, meanwhile, had finished his sample and was in the process of drinking Clint's. The children watched this display with revulsion. "Yum," the man said, giving the children a smile. "Just like Grandpa Abraham used to make."

"Why?" Natasha demanded.

"If you eat your vegetables, you grow up big and strong," Steve said, in an imitation of Abraham Erskine's accent. "It's not so bad," he went on, dropping the accent. "It could do with some more honey."

"Yuck," Clint said again. He turned his back on his father. "Can I ride on the cart?" he asked James hopefully.

Before James could say yes, Natasha jumped in front of Clint. "But I want to ride on the cart!" she said.

Clint frowned. "But it's _my_ birthday tomorrow!"

Natasha put her hand on the cart's side, and Clint echoed her. "But I _want_ to," Natasha declared.

"Why don't you both ride on the cart's sides?" James suggested. Steve had vanished, probably to throw away the sample cups, and James was left alone with the kids. "That's fair."

"It's not the same," Natasha muttered, never taking her eyes of Clint. The little boy was standing equally firm. "You have to stand on the _end_ for it to be fun!"

Wondering how he got himself into these situations, James looked around for Steve. At first, James couldn't see the man, but after a second look, Steve appeared, pushing another half-sized cart. James wondered where on earth the man had found the thing in a store this crowded. "Hey look," James said. "Steve's got a cart too, now you can both ride on the end."

The children looked at Steve's cart, then each other, then at James. "I want to ride with you," Clint said.

"No, I want to ride with Daddy!" Natasha cried.

Before James could lose his mind, Steve piped in with, "How about I ride with Bucky and you two push your own cart?"

Clint and Natasha both stared at Steve. "Can we?" Natasha squeaked.

"Sure, give it a try," Steve said, letting go of the shopping cart. "But you have to be careful," he cautioned as the children ran over to grab the cart. "You have to be careful about where you're going, so you don't hit anything or anybody."

"We won't," Clint promised. He and Natasha each took hold of one side of the cart's push bar, which was ridiculous as neither of them was tall enough to see over the cart.

"All right, you follow James," Steve said. He gave James a wink. "And I'll bring up the rear."

Preparing himself to have his heels banged up by the other cart, James turned resignedly into the store. "First stop, the milk aisle," he said over his shoulder.

"Slow down," Natasha said to Clint.

"Go faster," Clint said to Natasha.

Still, the children managed to push their cart all the way through the bulk section, only running into two of the bins and one other shopping cart. When James stopped in the dairy section, Natasha released the cart and went over to James' side.

"Daddy?" she asked, tugging on his pant leg. "I don't want to push anymore."

"That's okay," James said. "Will you help me pick out the milk?"

Steve pulled up with the other cart, Clint standing triumphantly on the end bar. "Hey, Bucky, you okay if we split up?" Steve asked.

"Sure," James said. "How about you get the meat and we'll get the milk and stuff for breakfasts. Meet you in produce in ten minutes?"

"Sure thing." Steve steered the cart around to head off to the other side of the store.

"Bye!" Natasha yelled, waving at Clint. He waved back, nearly falling off the cart in his enthusiasm. "No, Daddy, I don't want that milk."

There was a few minutes' discussion around the colour of the milk cartons, then which of the jugs to get. James handed Natasha a small container of cream to hold while he added butter and cheese to the cart. Then they made a quick detour to get eggs, three cartons for the week, and this led into a discussion of what a 'dozen' was, and why didn't people just say twelve, Daddy, that makes no sense!

As this philosophical discussion wore on, James quickly pushed the cart through the aisles. Knowing the children's food preferences as he did, he got pancake mix, peanut butter and jam, then went through the condiment aisle for hot dog toppings. Natasha, who appeared to have completely recovered from her earlier unhappiness, had _opinions_ about ketchup and on what food items to eat it.

"But never on Thursdays," Natasha said firmly as James pushed the cart in the direction of the produce section. "You can't eat ketchup in Thursdays."

"Why not?"

"Because on Thursdays I have dance class and then it's Friday."

"Can we eat ketchup on Fridays?"

"Daddy!" Natasha said, her voice full of impatience at his slowness. "Of course! What else do you eat with french fries?"

James pulled the cart up out of the way beside the pineapples. "And french fries because…" he prompted her.

"Because at school it's french fry Friday!" Natasha said. "Where's Clint, I want to show him the ketchup."

"They're not here yet." James rounded the cart to crouch down by Natasha's side. "You doing okay, pumpkin?"

"Uh huh." Natasha reached up her arms again, and James picked the girl up. "I didn't like that green drink."

"Yeah, it wasn't any good," James agreed. He shifted Natasha a little higher on his right arm. "You know, I remember when you were just a little baby, and you could fit right between my wrist and my elbow."

Natasha giggled. "I'm bigger now," she informed her father. "I'm _so_ big."

"You are. Some day, you'll be too grown up for me to pick up any more."

"No, I won't."

"You're not growing big?"

"No, you can always pick me up." Natasha leaned against James' shoulder. "Like a fireman do."

"There is always that," James said. He pressed a kiss against Natasha's hair. She smelled of sea salt and sunscreen and strawberry shampoo, a solid weight on his arm. Just for a moment, James wished he could freeze time, keep Natasha this age forever, keep her safe.

"When I'm big, maybe I can lift _you_ up," Natasha said, pulling James back to reality with a bump.

"Probably," James said. He bounced Natasha on his arm, a one-armed man's version of a hug, and set the girl down. "I see Steve, let's go see what he's got."

What Steve had was a cart piled high with all forms of animal protein. Hot dogs, bacon, and chicken all sat atop a few flats of steaks. James raised his eyebrows.

"Does Stark have a pet lion you didn't tell me about?"

"There's four of us, and it's for a week," Steve said with a smile. "How would you feel about a beach cook-out tonight?"

"Sounds like a plan," James said. "I've got everything else. Wait, except bread."

"I can get that, if you get some vegetables," Steve suggested.

"Sounds good."

Steve turned to head back into the store, but Natasha ran after him. "I'll go with you," she said breathlessly. "Clint stays with Daddy."

James glanced at Steve, to see if the man had any objection, then at Natasha. "You listen to what Steve says, okay?"

"Yeah," Natasha said dismissively, taking Steve's hand as he pushed the cart off.

"Okay then." James looked down at Clint, who was poking at the pineapple. "What do you say? Want to help me get the vegetables?"

"Okay." Clint hopped on the end of the shopping cart. "My daddy doesn't always take me shopping. I like shopping."

"It is fun to see all the food," James agreed. "What kind of salad should we have tonight?"

"Pizza salad."

James affected surprise at this answer. "A pizza salad? What's in a pizza salad?"

"Pizza," Clint explained. "That's all."

"Hmm. Can you put pineapple on a pizza salad?" James asked, plucking heads of lettuce off the pile at random.

"Yes," Clint said, hopping down to help James put the lettuce in bags.

"What about olives?"

Clint made a face. "No, only Daddy's pizza salad. Not mine."

"What about…. Mushrooms?"

"Those are okay." Clint handed the last head of bagged lettuce to James, and off they went. The produce section was particularly crowded, and it was no easy task for James to manoeuvre the cart around, even with the leverage of his metal arm. "Can we get mushrooms?"

"We can." Locating the mushroom display, he and Clint selected a bagful of white button mushrooms, as James identified the names of the more unusual mushrooms while Clint stared in wonder. "Now, what's next?"

It took James and Clint about ten minutes to load up the cart with more vegetables than the four of them could eat in a week, but Clint was so interested in the wide fan-shaped leaves of the collard greens and the funny colours of the heirloom tomatoes, that James just decided he'd get it all and eat them himself, if need be.

Steve and Natasha rejoined them by the checkout, Natasha triumphantly carrying a baguette that was nearly as tall as she was. "Daddy, guess what?" Natasha asked.

"What?"

"Steve got hot dog buns," Natasha exclaimed breathlessly. "We get to have hot dogs!"

"When?" Clint demanded. "Tonight? Can we have hot dogs tonight?"

"Yes," Steve said, taking the baguette from Natasha. "Kids, we need to go pay for all this stuff now. Do you want to stay with us, or go look at the books?" He pointed to a magazine stand that was ten feet away, with clear sight lines to the registers.

Clint shook his head. "Books," he declared. Hand in hand, he and Natasha walked over to the magazines.

Steve began to unload his cart onto the belt. "How'd you want to pay for this?" he asked James.

"Depends," James said, keeping one eye firmly fixed on the children's position. "Do they take gold bullion, or are we going to have to start selling our organs?" The woman ahead of them in line turned around to glare at James, but James ignored her.

"It won't cost that much," Steve said doubtfully. "How about half and half?"

"Deal." James paused, eyes glued to the children as a teenage shop clerk stopped by the magazine racks to speak to the kids. Natasha looked up at the man, then pointed at James and Steve. When the man followed the direction of Natasha's finger, James gave a wave with his metal hand, mentally bracing himself to make a dash for the children. But the clerk just smiled at James, gave a thumbs up, and left the kids alone.

"You want to go over there?" Steve asked.

James shook his head. "They're fine," he said. "Maria always says that children who have supervised exposure to strangers in every day settings are far less likely to be abducted. They're better able to figure out what's normal and what's not."

"That an FBI thing?"

"She used to work child abductions," James said. Over by the magazines, Clint had selected a book on birds, while Natasha was looking over the magazine covers. "She's got some good advice on stranger-proofing kids."

"Still." Steve, finished with his cart, started to unload James' cart onto the belt. "Sometimes I think about Clint running away from school a few months ago. And just… Yeah."

"Yeah." James clenched his right hand, wanting to touch Steve, reassure him that Clint was fine, that he was a smart kid. But he kept to himself. Straight men did not go around touching each other, let alone at the grocery store. "We'll keep him safe."

"Yeah." Steve concentrated on the cart. "What does Maria say about two kids together, instead of alone?"

"Reduces the already tiny rate of stranger abduction." This time, James levelled a gentle kick at Steve's calf. "Most times, it's the non-custodial parent who tries to grab a kid."

"Sharon would never do that," Steve said, slapping down the last cucumber on the belt.

"Good, then we got nothing to worry about."

Steve let out a huff, arranging the milk cartons into a neat row. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop worrying, though."

James wondered if he could get away with kicking Steve again. "Why do you think I'm watching the kids like I am?"

Then it was their turn at the checkout, and James moved the carts around Steve for the bagging clerk to fill. Over by the magazines, Clint said something to Natasha, then tore over to James' feet, nearly tripping two people in the process. "James," Clint said, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Can I get this? With my allowance?"

He held up a thick glossy magazine. "Bird Watcher's Annual," James read off the cover. "Huh. Well, you need to go ask your dad."

"Daddy!" Clint exclaimed, running over to Steve's side. "Can I get it? Can I? Can I?"

Steve picked Clint up for the boy to hand the magazine to the cashier. "We'll take it out of your allowance later," he said, setting Clint down. "That looks like a really interesting book."

Clint beamed.

Meanwhile, Natasha had wandered over to James' side. "Find anything interesting to read?" James asked, his hand on Natasha's shoulder.

"No," Natasha said with disappointment. "There's only books on horses. And boats. And golf." This last she pronounced 'go-elf'.

James patted Natasha's shoulder. "We have lots of fun books back at the house. We can find something good to read there, okay?"

Natasha pouted for a moment, but she was soon too busy watching the bagging clerk filling the carts to be upset.

The final total for the groceries made James' eyes pop, but he held his tongue as they loaded up the jeep and were buckling in for the drive. He made enough money to pay that and more for a week's worth of food, but on Steve's budget… well, James would find a way to pay for other things they did that week.

"Can we make a detour on the way to the candy shop?" Steve said as James pulled into the street. "I need to place an order."

James, who was waiting at a stop sign for traffic to clear, turned to raise his eyebrows at Steve.

"For tomorrow," Steve clarified, jerking his head back towards Clint.

Right. Clint's birthday. James pulled the jeep out into the road. "Want us to wait in the car?"

"No, I'll meet you at the candy store," Steve said. "How does that sound, guys? You ready for some candy?"

The cheers from the backseat were a definite answer.

* * *

Abandoning Steve in front of a cake shop, James drove the few blocks to the beach, where he lucked out in finding a parking spot close to the candy store. Hoping that their delay wouldn't be long enough to spoil the milk, James herded the children into the candy store, where they stared around them in wonder.

"How about we get one candy each?" James suggested. "And then we can come back to the candy store tomorrow if you want."

"One big candy," Natasha countered.

"Okay, one big candy."

"Or a bunch of little candy," Natasha went on. "A whole _bunch_."

"Nice try," James said. "One big candy, or ten little candy."

"Twelve," Natasha offered. "One _dozen_."

"Deal." James reached out his hand for Natasha to give him a high five. "Did you get that, Clint?"

Clint nodded, still staring around him. "I want to look at all the candy," the boy said. "All of it."

Luckily, the candy store was rather small. Natasha zeroed in on the penny candy, while Clint looked at the lollipops and chocolate bars and jelly beans.

"Do you know what you want to get?" James asked Clint as the boy looked around with indecision.

"I like jelly beans," Clint said. "But I want more than twelve jelly beans. So I want that big one." He pointed up at the lollipop display, at the purple lollipop that was bigger than Clint's head.

James stifled a sigh. He supposed that he brought these things on himself. "Sure." Picking up the lollipop off the display, he handed it to Clint before herding the boy over to the counter. Natasha was in the middle of telling the clerk that she wanted the twelve best gummy spiders, _please_. The middle-age woman, who had likely had much experience in dealing with sugared-up children, smiled at James as she counted out exactly twelve spiders into a little white paper bag, then handed the bag to Natasha.

Cautioning the children that they had to wait until they got outside, James quickly paid for the sweets, collected his change with a 'see you later', and off they went.

Steve was nowhere in sight, so James sent a text telling the man that he could find them on the beach, then walked with the children across the street and up onto the hill overlooking the sand. It was a busy day on the public beach, with many people out enjoying the sunshine. A few ice cream trucks sat open for business, as well as a hot dog cart, and a few local uniformed cops kept an eye on the scene.

James helped the children onto a bench. "We're going to wait for Steve to find us, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said. She thrust out her candy bag. "Can I have my candy now?"

"Yes," James said. "Clint, do you need help with that?"

But the boy had already unwrapped his lollipop, his face bright with anticipation. As Natasha shoved a gummy spider whole into her mouth, Clint took a big lick of his lollipop.

Later, James would describe the speed at which Clint's expression changed as almost comical, but now, there was nothing funny about the way Clint's face went from excited to devastated in under a second.

"Clint?" James said.

"It's bad!" Clint said loudly, tears filling his eyes. "I only got one candy and it's bad!"

Like all children, Clint had his breaking point, and the disappointment of his lollipop after the excitement of the day was too much for him to bear. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shoved the candy away from him.

"How is it bad?" James asked, taking the candy from Clint and taking a small lick. Far from the grape he expected, the purple candy tasted like some overwhelming perfume. James picked up the wrapper and turned it around to see the writing on the back. "Lavender? That's weird."

Meanwhile, Clint had removed his glasses to wipe his eyes as he continued to cry. Natasha stared at Clint open-mouthed, a half-eaten gummy spider in her hand. "Now I don't have any candy at all!" Clint wailed.

"Everything all right?" came the voice of authority. James turned around to see one of the police officers standing at the side of the bench.

"Everything's fine, ma'am," James said with a polite smile.

"No, it's not!" Clint objected before James could say more. "I don't like my candy!"

"Aw, that's not the end of the world," said the police officer. She was, without a doubt, the shortest cop James had ever seen. "I'm sure your dad has a solution for that."

"He's not my dad!" Clint said, wiping his eyes. "I don't know where my dad is!"

The officer's expression changed in an instant, polite cheerfulness going blank as she took a step back to regard James. James bit back several choice swear words. "His father went to order something for Clint's birthday tomorrow," James said evenly. He didn't make any sudden moves towards the children, in case the police officer overreacted.

Because James knew what this looked like. A crying child who didn't know where his father was, a strange man offering candy. Sure, stranger abductions were rare, but that didn't mean they never happened.

"Here," Natasha said, hopping off the bench. She held out her candy bag to Clint. "You can have one of my spiders."

Clint sniffled, wiped his nose, then reached into the bag with his snotty hand. "Thanks," he said sadly, pulling out a gummy spider by the leg. "Now I have one candy."

The police officer was still regarding James with blatant suspicion. "Can you tell me your names?" she asked the children.

Clint bit off a spider leg. "I'm Clint Rogers," he said. "This is Natasha Barnes. She is my _best friend_."

"And Clint is my best friend too!" Natasha put in.

"Where do you live?"

Instead of responding, Natasha looked at James. "Remember we talked about what we do if the police ask you questions?" James asked.

Natasha nodded. "Can I see your badge, please?" she asked the police officer, as cute as a button and twice as innocent.

The cop cracked a smile at this. "If I show you my badge, will you answer my questions?"

"Yes," Natasha said. "Maria says, you gotta ask for a badge to make sure the police is not an impostor." She pronounced each syllable in the last word with precision.

"Well then." The officer knelt down so the children could see the shiny badge pinned to her shirt. "Now, what do you think? Can you answer my questions?"

"Okay." Natasha rattled off her address. "I live with my daddy."

"And is this your daddy?" The officer pointed at James.

"Yes," Natasha said with gusto. "He only has one arm."

"I can see that," the officer said, smiling at Natasha. Now that his adrenaline rush was receding, James could see that the woman, while probably over forty, was nearly buzzing with energy, in much the same way as Natasha did. She was short and petite, but James had known plenty of small women in the military who could wipe the ground with his ass any day of the week. He suspected this woman could do the same thing. "Now, what about you, Clint? Where do you live?"

Clint carefully recited his address. "I live with my dad too," he said. "My mommy works. I saw her last month but she had to go away. It's my birthday tomorrow and I'm gonna be six."

"Six years old, that's quite grown-up," said the officer. "How does that make you feel?"

Clint shrugged. "Okay. I get presents."

"I got you a present," Natasha said. "But it's a _surprise_."

"Well, good luck with being six," the officer said. She turned back to James, who was still seated on the bench, lavender lollipop in his hand. "I'm sure you'll understand if I just wait until the boy's father comes back."

Given all the scenarios of what could have happened, James was relieved this was the extent of things. "Sure, pull up some bench," he said, putting the lollipop down onto the discarded wrapper.

The woman stayed standing.

Thankfully, it was only another few minutes before James heard Steve's voice. "Hey, sorry I took so long… Wait, _Jan_?"

James was then treated to the sight of Steve Rogers nearly falling over himself to hug the petite police officer. "Steve, I didn't know you were down here," the woman said warmly as she pulled back. She patted Steve on the bicep, about as high as she could reach on the man without going onto her toes. "And this is your son? Tony said he was getting big, but six years old already?"

"You know each other?" James said wearily. Of course. Of course Steve Rogers knew the one cop who had happened upon James and a crying Clint.

"Yeah, Jan and Tony go way back," Steve said with a smile. The smile faltered when he saw Clint's tear-stained cheeks, the abandoned lollipop, James' glare. "Um, Police Chief Janet van Dyne, this is my friend, James Barnes."

James stayed where he was. Police chief, of course. This just kept getting better. "Ma'am."

She touched the brim of her hat. "I'm glad everything got sorted out," she said. "Steve, I do have to get back to work, but are you staying out at Tony's place?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I swing by on occasion, to make sure Lucy and the old man are all right." A sudden smile broke over Janet van Dyne's face, giving her an air of mischief and energy. "That chef Tony has makes the world's best scones." She gave Steve's arm another pat, then turned to the children. "You two have fun while you're here, all right?"

"Yes," Natasha said through a mouthful of gummy, while Clint nodded his head.

"It was nice to meet you." And with that, Police Chief van Dyne turned and headed back down the beach.

As soon as she was out of earshot, James let his head fall, muttering "Damn it," under his breath.

"What happened?" Steve asked, but Clint was already on his feet and patting the back of Steve's hand.

"Daddy," Clint said urgently. "I got a candy and it was _bad_ and Natasha gave me one of her spiders but now I have no candy." He stuck out his lower lip in distress.

"Clint wanted a purple lollipop and I never thought to check the flavor," James said quietly. "I'll go back and get him a grape one." He made to stand up, but Steve's hand on his shoulder stilled him.

"I've got it," Steve said. He gave James' shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll be right back, then we can head back to the house, okay?"

At James' nod, Steve tossed Clint over his shoulder and strode off in the direction of the candy shop. In seconds, Clint was laughing again, all his sorrow over the lollipop vanished.

Natasha came over to James. She shoved her candy bag into James' hand, then climbed onto the bench beside her father. "Why did Clint get so sad?" Natasha asked.

James leaned back. The adrenaline rush had faded, leaving him with the familiar hollow ache in his stomach. He didn't blame the police chief for leaping to the conclusion that Clint was in danger; candy and a strange man were the textbook stereotype of stranger kidnapping.

But the incident had reminded James quite clearly that he really didn't have a role in Clint's life, just like he didn't really have a role in Steve's. He was just Steve's friend. It was never going to be more than that, no matter how deeply James was in love.

It didn't matter. James would never be able to change the fact that Steve was straight, and all this pining after a man who could never love him was just futile. Not only futile; pathetic.

"Daddy." Natasha's tiny finger poked hard into James' leg. "Why was Clint sad?"

James put his arm around Natasha's shoulders. "He was really excited about his candy," James said, staring out at the horizon. "And when it turned out to be something he didn't want, then he was sad."

"That's not good," Natasha agreed. "I'm glad I gave him a spider, then. That made him not-sad."

"That was a nice thing to do for your friend," James agreed. "How many spiders do you have left?"

They looked in the bag together. "Five," Natasha counted. "Only five. From twelve."

"How many have you eaten?"

"Six." Natasha held up five fingers on one hand and one on the other. "And Clint had one too." She added another finger for a total of seven. "That's not a lot of candy at all."

"It's enough candy for one day." James stood, reaching for Natasha's hand. "Come on, let's go back to the jeep. Then we can go swimming, how does that sound?"

"It sounds good," Natasha said, skipping along at James' side. "I have spiders in my tummy, they make me bounce!"

"Excellent." As they neared the car, James spotted Clint and Steve exiting the candy store. Clint, a gleeful expression on his face, clutched a suspiciously full shopping bag.

When Steve caught sight of James, he grinned big and wide, the happy expression of a man who didn't know his best friend was lying to him. Normally, James loved that expression on Steve's face, but now it only served to remind James of all the things he'd never have.

Turning, as if the sun had blinded him to Steve's approach, James opened the door to help his daughter into the jeep for the drive back to the house.

* * *

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?" James said as he took in his first view of the pool behind Tony Stark's house.

"It is a bit much," Steve agreed.

"Daddy, look!" Natasha yelled, pointing with one hand as she tried to drag her father forward. "There's a pool! And a waterfall! And a dolphin!"

Keeping his hold tight on Natasha's arm, James let himself be pulled down the tiled path to the pool. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly had not been this. An Olympic-sized swimming pool lay stretched out before them, sitting just below the crest of the hill, to give the illusion that one was swimming above the ocean. A hot tub the size of James' bedroom at home lay tucked into a curve of rock that on first glance looked artificial, but on closer examination appeared to be part of the natural rock structure of the estate.

Further along the rocky outcropping, water poured over the top into a small splash pool, which curved around and down to include a fountain shaped like a dolphin spitting water out of its mouth. Between the splash pool and the large pool, a few tables were set up with sun umbrellas. On one of the tables sat a pile of fluffy towels, a silver ice bucket and a pitcher of water. Beside the pitcher sat a small white note.

"What, no water slide?" James said sarcastically. Why would Tony Stark spend all this money on an estate he never used?

"Tony thought a water slide would be over the top," Steve said, leading Clint along.

"Yeah, it's the water slide that does it," James muttered. "All right, Nat, we're almost there."

Steve and Clint had stopped at the table with the drinks, for Steve to help Clint divest himself of glasses, hearing aid and watch. Natasha hurried over to Clint's side to pick up the note. "I heard the gate alarm and brought you down some bever-ages for the little ones," Natasha read slowly. "You can turn off the waterfall by the hot tub when you are done. Lucy."

"That's very nice of her," James said. He had left his prosthesis at the carriage house, but had worn a t-shirt on the walk to the pool. Now, he didn't want to take his shirt off. The children wouldn't give a damn about his scars and his disfigurement; no, it was Steve who made James hesitate.

"Lucy is a real nice lady," Natasha agreed, putting the note down.

"She sure is," Steve agreed as he slathered Clint with sunscreen. "You know, her father used to work for Tony's father. He was around a lot when Tony was a kid. That's one of the reasons that Tony keeps this place up like he does, sort of a retirement home for Mr. Jarvis."

"An expensive pension," James said. "Nat, honey, come here. Sunscreen time."

"Tony would do a lot for Mr. Jarvis," Steve said. "I guess if you have as much money as he does, it doesn't really matter how much you spend."

"When I grow up," Natasha interjected, "I will have all the money."

"What are you going to do with all your money?" James asked, squirting sunscreen on Natasha's back.

"I will have a pool with a dolphin," she declared.

"What about you, Clint?"

"I'm gonna have a candy shop," the boy said. "In my _house_. Where I can keep it _always_."

The bag of candy, purchased by Steve after the meltdown with the lollipop, had been confiscated by the adults on arrival back at the house, for which the children were still holding a grudge.

"A wise investment," Steve said. "Anything else?"

"I'm gonna have a _dog_."

"Can I play with your dog?" Natasha asked, squirming as James rubbed sunscreen over her shoulders.

"Yes!" Clint beamed. "Hey, Daddy, can I go play in the water?"

Steve turned Clint so the boy was facing him. "Yes, but let's stick with the shallow pool today, all right?"

"Okay." Clint looked over at Natasha. "Hey, wanna play in the waterfall?"

"Yes!" Natasha cheered. James had to pen her in against the chair to finish applying sunscreen, then off the kids went, at a fast walk instead of a run.

"Glad to see they remember that much at least," James said, standing up with a groan. Sitting in a car for hours, followed by heavy lifting then a slow stroll, had not helped his aching muscles.

"Yeah." Steve kicked off his sandals. "What do you want to do? Swim some laps?" he asked.

Even though there was no hint of derision in Steve's voice, James still bristled. "I can swim just fine," he said.

"I know," Steve said, frowning. "You could always swim better than me, when we were kids."

The honest confusion on Steve's face flustered James. As cover, James pulled his t-shirt off over his head. He knew damn well how pale he was, but the last thing in the world he was going to do was to ask Steve Rogers to help him apply sunscreen to his back. "You go swim," he said. "I'll play with the kids for a bit."

"Are you sure?"

James picked up the sunscreen angrily. "If I hadn't meant it, would I have said it?" he demanded.

But Steve just kept staring at him, until finally James turned and headed across the tiled patio for the splash pool.

The children were both delightedly playing in the stream from the waterfall. Natasha was holding her hands in the falling water, while Clint jumped in and out of the spray.

"Hey, Nat, can you give me a hand?" James asked at the edge of the pool. Natasha immediately splashed over to him. "Can you help me with sunscreen?"

"Yes," Natasha said. "I can help."

James squirted some sunscreen onto her hands, and she immediately tackled his back. He had no doubt that she'd miss large squares of his skin, leaving him burned tomorrow, but it couldn't be helped.

Clint came over, wanting to help, so James asked the boy to put some sunscreen on his right shoulder. Clint was very careful in applying the lotion, while Natasha was perfectly willing to pummel James' skin with more force that was necessary. While the children tackled his back and shoulder, James applied the sunscreen to his chest and sides, as far as he could reach with his one hand.

In short order, James was as protected from the rays as he would get. He thanked the children for their assistance. Clint saluted and Natasha patted James on the shoulder.

"We'll take care of you," Natasha said. Then she giggled. "Because you're _old_."

"Thanks," James said as the children stormed back to the waterfall. "I appreciate that." Standing, he turned to see what Steve was up to in the pool, only to nearly jump out of his skin at finding Steve three feet behind him. "Fuck. What?"

"I could have helped with that," Steve said.

No, he couldn't have, because if Steve touched James at this point, James might go out of his mind. "I got it under control," James said, trying to keep the sudden flare of anger out of his voice. From the expression on Steve's face, he wasn't sure he succeeded. "Look, if you're not going to do laps, then I will, okay?"

"I'll watch the kids," Steve said, but James was already moving.

"Knock yourself out," James called over his shoulder. He had to get away from Steve, before he did something truly stupid.

Walking to the pool's deep end, James paused long enough to brace his toes against the pool's edge, lifted his right arm over his head and angled his left arm to be as straight as possible next to his ear, and dove into the water.

The shock of the cold water lasted only a moment. With only the sound of water rushing past his ears, the water's cool embrace around his body, James glided underwater before kicking on his return to the surface. He swam the remainder of the lap with the one-armed stroke he'd worked out in physio all those years ago. His body, not used to the motion, took a while to find its rhythm, but after three laps he was able to swim an entire length without faltering or needing to stop for air.

As he settled into the repetition of motion, the ache in his gut returned. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own that he felt the way he did, James reminded himself. He was the one who had fallen in love with his best friend. He was the one who had let himself care too much about Clint. But Steve was just his friend, and Clint was just Natasha's best friend. James had been a fool to think even for a minute that he might be anything more to Steve.

And it wasn't like they were even _best_ friends. They had been, once, long ago before Steve was adopted and left New York. A few lunches and play dates didn't mean anything. James offering to watch Steve's kid while Steve was busy, to take him to his archery class and keep him overnight, that was just something Steve had needed done. Nothing more.

Even Steve inviting Abraham over to James' house, had only been the most convenient thing for Steve.

At the wall, James took a deep breath before ducking under the water. He pushed off hard, letting the underwater silence hold him for as long as he could hold his breath.

James still had no idea why Steve had asked him on this vacation. In all likelihood, it was just so the children could hang out to celebrate Clint's birthday.

Fine. James could live with that. He would do exactly what he'd been doing all summer, which was to let the kids have as much fun as possible. And then… well, he'd had almost two decades of being alone, of knowing he'd never find someone to love. Steve Rogers' reappearance in his life was not going to change that.

He broke the surface of the water, turning into a backstroke. It had been too long since he had swum, and his body was already tiring.

A yellow-and-blue flutter caught his eye, approaching the pool at a fast clip. James splashed to a halt, fearful that Natasha was going to do something foolish. But the little girl stopped at the edge of the pool, crouching down. "Daddy, come over here!" she commanded.

"I'll be right there," James said. He swam over to the side of the pool where Natasha waited. By the time he arrived, Steve was there, holding Clint's hand. "What's up, sweet pea?"

Natasha pointed at the splash pool. "Come play with us!" she demanded. "Steve's playing with us and it's so much fun!"

James looked up into Natasha's excited face, at the small pool with its waterfall and fountain and no doubt warmer water. "I don't know."

"It'll be fun!"

"Yeah, come play with us," Clint put in. "We're playing water dinosaurs!"

"Of course you are." Taking hold of the edge of the pool, James propelled himself out of the water, splashing Natasha and Clint as he did so. They both squealed. "Is Steve playing your game too?"

"Trying to," Steve said. "Apparently, I am a boring dinosaur."

James stood. "Well, obviously, you need someone to show you how it's done."

The corner of Steve's mouth curled up. "Oh yeah? You gonna do that?"

"Watch me."

Natasha let out a cheer. "Daddy dinosaur is on my team!"

With a growl, Clint stampeded back to the small pool, Natasha in his wake. The adults came along at a more sedate (or in the children's words, boring) pace.

"You're pretty fast in the water," Steve said as they neared the pool.

"For a cripple," James said dismissively. He was not expecting Steve to take hold of his arm. The sudden touch sent a shiver all over James' body and without thinking he pulled away from Steve, stepping back out of reach. "What do you want?"

Steve let his hand drop. "You shouldn't talk about yourself like that," he said.

"Why not? It's the truth."

Steve frowned, not his normal quick irritation, but something deeper. "Oh yeah?" he demanded. "And if Clint started talking about himself that way?"

"Clint's not missing an arm," James said, turning his back to the children. "Don't think you know anything about what I'm going through, Steve, because you don't."

Steve stared at him for a long moment. "What the hell is going on with you today?"

"Not a goddamn thing," James lied. "Now come on, we need to play dinosaurs."

Forcing his irritation down, past the ball of anxiety in his gut, James turned back to the children. This week at the beach was about them, not about anything he might want.

* * *

Thankfully, Steve kept his mouth shut, and the children kept going strong in the water for over an hour, interspersing their play with breaks for drinks. Natasha was particularly impressed with the water pitcher, which had cucumber slices floating in it.

Soon after five, however, the children began to flag.

At James' first suggestion that they head back to the house for dinner, Natasha declared, "I'm not hungry! I'm having fun!"

James looked at his daughter, sitting still in the shade from the rock wall as water lapped over her legs. "What about you, Clint?"

Clint, who was lying flat like a starfish in the spray from the waterfall, said, "I'm having fun. But I'm hungry too."

"It's going to take a while to build up the fire for hot dogs," Steve contributed. The man didn't appear in the least tired, which James envied. He felt as if he'd been run over by a fire truck. Had it only been seven hours before when they drove away from his house in Brooklyn?

Natasha frowned at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"We're going to have a cook-out," Steve said. "We can cook hot dogs over the fire, and we can also eat marshmallows too."

"Marshmallows?" Clint said, sitting up. "Over a real fire?"

"Yes." James hauled himself up. "But first, we need baths to wash all the chlorine off. Do you think we can head back to the house?"

"But I like the pool," Natasha protested.

"And you can come back to the pool every day for eight whole more days," James pointed out.

"That's a lot of days," Clint said. He stood and splashed over to his father. "Let's go have hot dogs."

"Natasha?"

Natasha let out a theatrical sigh. "If I have to," she said sadly. She took James' offered hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. "We can come back tomorrow."

"Excellent."

It took a few minutes to pack up. While Steve helped Clint gather up his things, James went to turn off the waterfall as Lucy had instructed in her note. The controls took a bit of figuring out, but James eventually found the right button to turn off the fountain and waterfall. Satisfied, James straightened up and turned around.

Natasha was gone.

"Nat?" James said, taking a few quick steps out from behind the hot tub. Natasha was not on the deck by Steve or Clint, nor was she in the splash pool. James' heartbeat pounded in his chest as he ran towards the big pool. He had only had his back turned for a moment, and Steve had been right there, surely she couldn't have fallen in?

"Bucky?" Steve called.

James skidded to a stop. The big pool was clear and blue, nothing lying under the water. Natasha wasn't there. "Where's Natasha?" James said, turning to look around. Had she gone back to the house? Had she gotten bored and run down to the beach?

"She was just here," Steve said. "I hardly took my eyes off her."

Adrenaline screamed through James' body. Logically, he knew that Natasha was a smart girl and she knew better than to run off without telling him, but they were in a new place and there were so many ways that a tiny child could get hurt, and all because James had foolishly turned his back on her to turn off some goddamn high-tech faucet—

"There she is!" Clint said. James jerked around, followed the direction of Clint's pointing finger. Walking up the hill on the way to the big house was Natasha.

Relief hit James like a physical blow. He took off after his daughter at a run, relief warring with anger in his chest. Relief at knowing Natasha was safe, anger at himself for taking his eyes off her for even a moment.

"Hey!" he yelled when he was in earshot of his daughter. "Nat, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to see that man, Daddy!" Natasha said, coming to a halt. She pointed up the hill at the house's porch. From this vantage point, James could see an old man sitting in a chair overlooking the beach.

James dropped to his knee beside Natasha, careful in his agitation to take her hand gently in his. "Natasha, we shouldn't bother the people in the big house," he said. His heartbeat still hammered hard in his chest at the _might-have-been_. "And you're not supposed to go anywhere without telling me, you know that."

"But that is Lucy's father," Natasha said, as if that excused things. "He has to be, he's so old. He waved so I came to say hi."

"We can go say hello together," James said. With a bright smile, Natasha hauled her father along up the grassy slope to where the old man sat.

And he was really very old. Over ninety, Lucy had said, and yet here he was, sitting in a chair in the shade of the porch, a blanket over his knees in spite of the warm day. "Hello," said the old man as Natasha skipped up to him. "You must be Tony's friends."

"I'm Natasha," said the little girl. "I'm five and a half. You have a fun pool!"

"Do you like it?" the man said, his old face creasing in a smile. "It's good to see someone enjoying it."

"It's a really nice place," James said, feeling awkward and embarrassed to be standing here in front of this old man, in only his bathing suit and no shirt to disguise the scars along his torso or his missing arm. "I'm James Barnes."

The old man reached up his hand to shake. "Edwin Jarvis, my boy, good to meet you."

Shaking the old man's fragile hand was rather like trying to cradle a bird, but James managed. Then Natasha stuck out her little hand. "I can shake hands too," she informed Mr. Jarvis. "I learned in school. It's polite."

"It is polite," Mr. Jarvis said. He shook Natasha's hand. "You have very nice manners."

Natasha beamed.

"Hey," Clint said, bounding up beside them. Steve was on his heels, carrying an armful of towels. "Hi! I'm Clint!"

"You must be the birthday boy," Mr. Jarvis said. "My Lucy said that you are turning six years old tomorrow."

"Yup!" Clint grinned. "My dad said we can have hamburgers for my birthday!"

"An excellent choice," said the man. "And is this your father?"

"Steve Rogers," and Steve reached out a hand to shake with Mr. Jarvis. "We'll try to keep then noise down out at the pool."

"No need, no need," Mr. Jarvis said reassuringly. "This house is very large and we aren't bothered." He looked at the two children. "Now, isn't it your dinner time?"

"Almost," Natasha said, sticking out her tummy. "We're gonna have hot dogs. And marshmallows."

"That sounds delightful." Mr. Jarvis looked up at the men. "If you are here on Wednesday, Lucy holds a lovely afternoon tea. You're all welcome to attend."

"That sounds like a great idea," Steve said. "We'll see, right Bucky?"

"Yeah," James said. He took a towel from Steve to wrap around Natasha, who was starting to shiver in the shade. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Jarvis."

"And you as well."

In a chorus of goodbyes, the children headed back down the hill, James on their heels. Steve lingered to exchange a few more words with the old man, then caught up with everyone as they were making their way along the path back to the carriage house.

"What did you say?" James asked.

"Just checking in to make sure he was all right with the kids making noise," Steve said. "In case he was being polite."

James slowed to let the children run on ahead. "And?"

"And he said it was fine, he's half-deaf anyway." Steve rubbed his hand through his hair. "Bucky, I'm really sorry."

"About what?"

"About not keeping an eye on Natasha."

"Don't be," James said. "It's not your job to keep an eye on my kid."

"Bucky." Steve took a few steps ahead of James, then stopped, blocking his path but not crowding him. "I'm sorry."

James took a few steps back, breathing over the reminder of his panic. Natasha was getting so big now, but there was still the chance that something could happen, even if he turned his back for an instant…

"She's all right," James said. "She's fine."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Looking at Steve hurt, so James turned to face the beach. The sun was still high in the sky, a few puffy clouds overhead. It was going to be a lovely evening.

"Let's go get the kids cleaned up, all right?" James said to the ocean.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Good idea."

They left it at that.

* * *

James and Steve ended up flipping a coin for the first shower. James won, so he left Steve to get the kids to rinse their swimsuits while he took a three-minute shower. Next, James hurried Natasha through a quick bath, giving her a shampoo so the chlorine wouldn't damage her fine hair.

Steve and Clint were up next, so James rolled Natasha in a bath towel and carried her into the kids' bedroom to get dressed. She shooed him off, so James went out onto the landing to find some clothes for the evening's cook-out.

After a few more minutes, Clint emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam. He trudged into the bedroom, and James could hear the children talking from inside the room.

James supposed that he should put on his arm, should get up to start working on dinner, but he was just so tired. The long drive, the walk on the beach, the disaster in town with Steve's friend the police chief, and then the near heart-attack with Natasha at the pool; the events of the day had left James drained.

Maybe this vacation wasn't meant to be, James thought glumly. Maybe it would be best if he just took Natasha home after Clint's birthday. It was safe at home; James didn't have to worry about someone getting in at night, or Natasha slipping and falling into the ocean, or the cops taking Natasha away from him because of some misunderstanding.

He was just so tired.

"Hey!"

James looked up. Clint stood in front of him, dressed in clean clothes, his hair sticking up every-which-way. He held out his watch to James.

"Can you help me?"

James rubbed his hand over his face. "Sure, kiddo, come sit down."

Clint scampered over to the couch, climbing up beside James. "The pool was fun!" he chirruped, holding out his wrist so James could help buckle the watch. "That was the funnest pool I ever been in. I want to live here always."

"It was a very fun pool," James said. "And tomorrow, we can go to the pool again, and then play on the beach, all the fun things."

Clint put on his glasses to peer at his watch. "When will I be six?"

"When the little hand goes around to the twelve."

With a harrumph, Clint sat back. "That's forever."

"It isn't even seven hours." James ruffled Clint's hair. "You can wait."

"I know." Clint smoothed his hair down. "Are you going to wear your arm?"

James sighed. "I don't know."

"Does your arm hurt?"

James looked at his left arm stump. "Nope. Just, sometimes, I don't want to put on the arm."

"I know how that goes," Clint said in commiseration. "Sometimes, I don't wanna wear my hearing aid. But Daddy says I _have_ to."

"Why don't you want to wear it?"

"Sometimes it's too loud." Clint made a face. "And people make weird faces when they see it. I like it better at swimming when I _can't_ wear it and no one says dumb things."

"Tell me about it," James said, slouching down on the couch. "Why don't you talk to your dad about maybe not wearing your hearing aid sometimes?"

"No." Clint flopped over, putting his feet over the couch arm. "I'll get in trouble."

"Clint, you won't get in trouble by asking your dad about this," James said. "You'll never get in trouble asking your dad about anything."

Clint stuck out his lower lip in a mighty pout. "I got in trouble when Natasha told Daddy that sometimes I couldn't hear him. Now I have to go to stupid _classes_."

"You mean sign language class?" At Clint's nod, James put his hand under Clint's shoulders to get the boy to sit up. "Sign language isn't stupid, it's cool."

Clint eyed James suspiciously. "No it's not," he said, although with less conviction this time.

"It sure is. We used a kind of sign language in the Army."

Clint's eyes went wide. "You did?" he squeaked.

"We sure did," James replied, as Natasha came out of the bedroom wearing a sundress. "Do you kids want to learn some signs?"

"Yes!" Natasha said, pouncing on her father. "Show me."

With the children as a captivated audience, James showed them the tactical hand signs for hurry up, stop, freeze, understand and don't-understand. They were going through the number signs when Steve emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Give me five minutes, okay?" he said, heading to his bathroom.

The three on the couch gave Steve the thumbs-up sign, and the children burst into hysterical laughter.

Steve raised his eyebrows at James, who just smiled. "We're good," James said, standing. "Come on, peanut butter and jelly, let's go get a head start on the fire pit."

Outside, James led the kids to the woodpile stacked a distance from the house. He told them to (carefully) put kindling chips into the empty water bucket, while James carried half-armful after half-armful of split logs to the fire pit. The pit itself was little more than a depression in the sand with a few charred scraps, ringed by chunks of old logs that had likely washed up on the beach during the Roosevelt administration. James dumped the wood off to the side of the pit, making sure that the kids were occupied while he worked.

When Steve made it down to the beach, James had already brought down enough wood for two fires. "I brought some matches," Steve said, holding up a match box. "Do you need newspaper or something?"

"Got some by the woodpile," James said, dropping his last load. He brushed wood chips off his shirt. "The kids are bringing the kindling. You want to bring down the food and then we can start the fire?"

"Yeah, I can do that." Steve said. He tossed the box of matches onto the haphazard pile of wood. "Are we okay?"

James pulled one last splinter from his shirt before looking at Steve. "Of course we are."

"You sound real convincing."

"What's to say?" James asked. He could hear the kids coming down the beach, and he would not let himself be drawn into a fight with Steve with them so close. "Great day at the beach. Nice place."

Steve clenched his jaw, but held his tongue as the children joined them. "Daddy, look what I found," Natasha said. She held out a leaf. "I like this leaf. It's the best."

"Then put it into your pocket to keep it safe." James took the bucket from the children's grasp. "Now, you go help Steve carry down the food."

Protests rose as the children demanded that they be able to build the fire. Too tired to fight at this point, James held up his hand.

"Get the food and then come back here, I'll show you how to build a fire, okay? Hurry up so we can eat." At this, the children bolted for the house. "You going to help them or not?" James snapped at Steve when the man just stood there.

Steve turned on his heel and followed the children without a word.

James took in a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to ground himself. He didn't have the space to be angry right now. He was soon going to have two rambunctious children around a bonfire, that was where his head needed to be.

Dumping the kindling beside the logs, James kicked off his sandals before heading down to the water with the bucket. Just after six o'clock, and the shadows were starting to lengthen. It was going to be a perfect night for a bonfire. Maybe the kids would even be able to see the stars.

At the water's edge, James waded into the surf. The water was cool on his legs, and just for a few moments, he stood and stared out at the ocean.

It had been a long time since he'd been to the beach like this. After high school, he'd spent his basic training inland, then spent his Army career in Afghanistan and Iraq. After he'd lost his arm, and adopted Natasha, the closest he ever got to the water was a stroll along the river with Natasha in the baby carrier.

This was supposed to be a perfect vacation, and James was fucking everything up.

Well, fucking things up was what James had always done best. He scooped up a pail of water, and carried it back to the fire pit.

In his absence, Steve had moved a couple of folding chairs outside and had propped an old board between them as a table. Natasha and Clint were smoothing a tablecloth over the board, while Steve carried food out of the house. "Daddy, look, we're helping," Natasha said.

"You sure are," James said, putting the bucket by the fire pit. "You're doing a great job. Can you run back inside to get the plates and cups?" Off the children ran. Once they were inside, James turned to Steve. "Would you be okay with me showing Clint how to start a fire?"

Steve set down his armful. "Of course," he said. "I trust you."

James narrowed his eyes at the man's tone, but the kids were coming back and this wasn't the time or the place.

"Come on, kids!" James said, clapping his hand against his thigh. "Who wants to learn how to set things on fire?"

The delirious shouts of "Me! Me!" must have carried all the way up the hill to the big house.

* * *

Hours later, James and Steve crept out of the children's (finally) quiet bedroom. The excitement of building a fire (and learning how to safely strike a match, which had wasted nearly an entire box of matches), then roasting hotdogs and marshmallows had lasted until well after sunset. Then stories around the campfire had turned into more stories as the kids were tucked into their beds, with Steve having to read four chapters of Harry Potter before the children would finally close their eyes.

James leaned against the hallway wall, wondering how he was still upright. "I can't believe they're finally asleep."

Steve shushed him. "If they hear you, they might wake up again," he whispered. He tossed the book on top of James' open suitcase. "Want to go back outside so we don't wake them?"

James considered. He'd already made sure that all the doors and windows on the far side of the house were bolted fast, and the house was as secure as it was going to get. "Sure," he said, and pushed off the wall.

Steve paused in the kitchen as James headed out to the dying fire. It was past eleven and James had no idea how he was going to survive the following day. As excited as Clint was about his birthday, James was preparing himself for a dawn wake-up call as the children would demand to start the day.

Still. In spite of his exhaustion, James couldn't see going to bed any time soon. The loft's couch didn't hold any appeal. He ached for his own bed, with its just-right mattress and his flat pillows, where he could fall asleep knowing that Natasha was _safe_.

James put another piece of wood on the fire. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be warm. As night descended over Long Island, a chill wind was blowing in off the ocean. James was glad that the children were snug in their beds.

"Hey." Steve appeared out of the darkness. His hands were full with two juice bottles and a dusty glass bottle. He sat down in the sand beside James, putting the bottles down. "I found Tony's secret stash."

James picked up the glass bottle. "I didn't find this on my first go through the house," he said, turning the label to the light. Vodka. "Where did he hide this?"

"There's a secret compartment beside the fireplace," Steve said, taking back the bottle. He opened it with some difficulty. "Tony told me about it when he said I could use the place. He stashed this stuff back when he was in college. He was only fifteen, and his mother used to get weird about him drinking at that age."

"I can't imagine why." James poked the fire with a stick Clint had found on the beach for just this very purpose. "You looking to get wasted?"

"No." Steve cracked open one of the juice bottles and took a few swallows. "Just one drink." He poured enough vodka into the juice bottle to fill the empty space, and gave the bottle a swirl. "You want one?"

James knew he shouldn't. Not that one drink would impair his parenting ability, but his exhaustion and the strange juxtaposition of illicit drinking at fifteen was mixing into a cold ball of worry in his stomach. "Maybe I'll have a sip of yours," he said.

Steve re-capped the vodka and set the bottles off to the side. He leaned against the driftwood log. "I'm surprised the kids got to sleep at all, with how excited Clint is about tomorrow."

"They've been running full-tilt since we got here," James pointed out. He eased back onto the log. From this position, he could see the glass doors of the house and the children's window. No one would be able to sneak into the house without him seeing. "All that candy and excitement, they should have crashed hours ago."

"Yeah." Steve drew his knees up to his chest. "Tomorrow's going to be great."

James poked at the fire, a spray of sparks catching in the wind. "Did you come out here to talk about Clint's birthday?" he asked. "Or something else?"

"I just want to hang out with you, Buck," Steve said. "That's all."

The words twisted deep in James' gut. Steve was saying these things, but he didn't know what James really felt about him. If he knew, everything would be over. All of this, everything James had built up over a web of lies, would fall apart.

Giving the fire one last poke, James set the stick aside. "Maybe…" He cleared his throat, unable to look at Steve. "Maybe, after tomorrow, I should take Nat and go back to the city."

For a long time, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. "What the hell?" Steve finally asked. "You were really into this whole vacation thing before we left, then today you've been acting like you don't want to be here. What the hell is going on with you?"

James stared into the flames. "Maybe I just changed my mind, okay?"

"For fuck's sake," Steve said. "Bucky, seriously, what is going on?"

The lateness of the hour, combined with the utter obliviousness of this man, pushed James past his breaking point. "Nothing is going on," he spat out, digging his heels into the sand. "A place like this, it ain't for people like me. It'd be better if I just took Nat home."

"Better for who?" Steve shot back.

"For everyone."

"Not for Clint," Steve said, shaking his head. "Damn it, Bucky, Clint adores you. He was so excited when I told him that you and Natasha were coming with us for this vacation!"

James balled his hand into a fist. Why couldn't Steve ever let a thing go? "He'll get over it," James ground out. "It's better this way."

Steve sprang to his feet and stalked away to the other side of the fire. "What the _fuck_ , Bucky? This was supposed to be the perfect vacation, the four of us together!"

There was nothing James could say to that. It would be better, really, if James left. Natasha might hate him for a few days, being deprived of the swimming pool, but she would get over it.

It was better this way.

"Did something happen in town today?" Steve asked, shattering James' resolve. "You were still into everything at the grocery store."

"Nothing happened," James lied.

But Steve was like a dog with a bone, never letting go once he'd gotten his teeth into an idea. "Something changed after I came back from the cake shop," he went on. "Did something happen at the beach?"

"Shut up."

"Wait," Steve said, coming back around to James' side of the fire. "Is this about Jan? Did something happen with her?"

"Happen?" James demanded, his voice catching on the word. "Your police chief buddy comes across some crying child on the beach with some guy who ain't his father, what else was she supposed to think?"

"You didn't tell me about any of that," Steve said, sitting down with a bump. "Jesus, Bucky, what did she say to you?"

"Nothing, all right?" James hunched forward in the vain hope that something could stop his stomach from aching. "She did what she had to, to make sure I wasn't some pervert come to steal little children away."

"Bucky—"

"Shut up, all right?" James said dully. "Everything's fine. She didn't take the children away from me, everything's all right."

"Children? Even if she didn't know what to do with Clint, what would any of this have to do with Natasha?" Steve asked.

James rubbed his hand over his face. He was so tired that he felt like he was going to puke. "Single dad, with a little girl that looks nothing like him?" Maybe throwing up wasn't such a bad idea. "I used to have nightmares, that Child Services would come and take Natasha away from me, or that someone would make a fuss and the police would come for Natasha and never let me have her back."

Steve let out a pained sound, and James hurried on.

"Like, it was okay, because Nick Fury, he knew about me before I adopted Nat. There's no law banning gay people from adopting in New York State, so even if anyone else found out now, it wouldn't matter legally."

"No one will ever take Natasha away from you, Bucky," Steve said. "She's healthy, she's happy. I've never seen such a happy kid."

"What if it's not enough?" James demanded. "Today, when I lost sight of her at the pool…" He swallowed hard on a wave of nausea. "It was only a moment, but it was like everything I ever tried to do, just ended right then."

"She was fine," Steve reminded James.

"But what if she wasn't?" James could taste bile at the back of his throat. "I can't protect her here, Steve. I can't keep her safe." He rubbed his eyes. He needed to get some _sleep_ ; he wasn't making any sense to himself. "Man, just forget it. Don't fucking listen to me, I don't know."

Steve's hand settled on James' back. This time, James was just too damned tired and sick to his stomach to pull away. "We'll keep them safe," Steve said quietly. "Whatever you need, we'll do, okay?"

"Yeah," James muttered.

"Come on, I mean that," Steve said. "You and me, we've been best friends forever, all right?"

James shook his head. "Are we?"

Steve's hand fell away from James' shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"Are we really friends?" James resisted the urge to touch his shoulder where Steve's hand had been. "We were when we were kids, but a lot's changed since we were twelve."

Chancing a glance at Steve, James could see confusion and betrayal on the man's face, but he couldn't undo what he'd said. "What the hell are you talking about?" Steve demanded. "You're my best friend. You've always been my best friend."

"Twenty years is a long time," James protested. "How do you know if you even want to be my friend anymore?"

Steve picked up his juice bottle and took a large swallow. "I know I want to be your friend because, well, I just do!" He put the bottle down. "Or is this about something else? You don't want to be friends?"

"Fuck, Steve, it isn't that," James said. "You hardly know me anymore, that's all."

"Maybe back when we first met," Steve said stubbornly. "But not after everything we been through in the last few months." He sat back against the log. "You may not think we're friends, but I'm your friend, whatever the hell you may think."

James stared at the fire. The wind had died down, leaving the flames to crackle and dance. "You've got crappy taste in friends," he said, trying to joke, but the words felt empty in his mouth.

"I know." Steve gently punched James' shoulder. "Jerk."

"Who you calling a jerk, punk?"

Steve offered James his drink, but James waved him off.

"Give me that other one, would you?" When Steve handed James the bottle, James wedged it between his knees to twist off the lid. "Grape juice and vodka, what the hell is that even."

"Some times you've got to improvise."

"High class, Steve, high class."

"I'm a lot of things, Buck, high class wasn't ever one of them."

James took a long drink from the bottle. He'd always thought that cheap juice was a thousand times better than all that fancy hippie organic shit they sold in the grocery store.

"You really going to go back to the city?" Steve asked after a minute.

"I dunno. It's just… nine more days of this, you might not be speaking to me by the end of it."

"I'll do anything to help you. Clint wants you and Natasha here." Steve hesitated. "And so do I."

James took another drink. "You mean that?"

"Of course I do."

"Even though you know how messed up I am?"

"You're not messed up."

James turned to raise his eyebrows at Steve. "The fuck I'm not."

"Not like that," Steve said, meeting James' glare. "You've been through a lot of stuff."

"All of which messed me up."

"You really think that?" Steve asked unexpectedly. "That you're messed up?"

James shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You don't seem like it. You're the most pragmatic person I have met in my entire life," Steve said. "You always seem like you've got everything together, like you'll always be able to get through anything."

"Fake it 'til you make it," James muttered. "Jesus Christ, Steve, stop it with the pep talk already."

"Just think about staying, okay?" Steve asked. "If you need anything, some quiet time or just need to go for a drive, I've got the kids, anytime. All right?"

"Why?" James asked. "Why are you doing all this?"

"I already told you. You're my best friend. I'll always be there for you." Steve ran his hand through his hair. "And you've done so much for me and Clint in the last few months, I'll never be able to repay you."

"There's nothing to repay," James said, a lump in his throat making it hard to swallow. "I'd do anything for you. And Clint."

Steve smiled, a wide, brilliant smile that made James's heart ache. "Same with me. For you and for Natasha."

James wasn't sure if this declaration made him feel better or worse. He'd always known that he'd never have a chance with Steve, but at least he would be able to count on the man as a friend. One of his only friends.

As long as he never let Steve know how he truly felt, he'd be able to keep Steve as a friend.

And really, wasn't that the best he could hope for?

Taking a deep breath, James decided that there was only one thing he could do, and that was to bury his true feelings for Steve down as far as they would go. Steve was the best friend James had ever had, and he could not lose that just because his heart yearned for more.

"So," he said. "I guess we're staying, then."

"Good," Steve said. "That's great, Bucky."

"I may take you up on that offer for watching the kids, though," James said as he rubbed his eyes again. "Fuck, I'm tired."

"Want to head inside?"

James let his head fall back. Overhead, so far from the bright lights of the city, the stars shone bright in the midnight sky. "Not yet. It's nice out here. Quiet."

"Yeah." James could hear Steve taking another sip from his drink. "I was out backpacking once when I was in Europe. We were out in the middle of nowhere in Scotland and the stars were amazing. Sort of like this."

James stared up at the heavens. "It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it?"

"Sure has."

"The rest of the week keeps up like this, I may need a vacation when we get back to recover from this vacation."

"Those are the best kind."

As he sat staring at the stars, with Steve beside him and the warmth and crackle from the fire at his feet, James wondered if he would be able to pull this off. But what choice did he have?

Everything would be fine, James told himself firmly. Steve and he were _friends_ , nothing more. The kids were going to have a wonderful vacation, and everything was going to be all right.

He just wished that realization didn't feel like ice in his stomach.


	17. Summertime (Part II)

* * *

"Wake up! Wake up!"

James came to consciousness with a jolt, half-way to sitting in the soft darkness. Somewhere close by, someone was yelling.

"Wake up, Natasha, it's my _birthday_!"

Clint was awake. James lay back down, pulling the blanket over his head. God, what time was it? How long had he been asleep?

A rustling, the pounding of feet, and then two small wriggly creatures flung themselves onto James' body. He let out an "Ooph!" as someone's knee dug into his stomach.

"Daddy, wake up!" Natasha commanded. "It's Clint's birthday!"

Rolling onto his side managed to dump the children to the floor in a giggling heap. James pulled the blanket off his face and managed to rasp out, "Why are you even."

The dim shape that was Clint bounced to his feet. "It's my birthday!" he exclaimed. "Look, the little hand is on the _five_!"

Something hard hit James in the nose. Grabbing the object before Clint could hit him again, James blinked to focus his eyes. The watch read three minutes past five.

With a groan, James sat up. "Would you look at that? It is your birthday after all."

Natasha climbed onto James' lap. "Let's open Clint's presents," she suggested. Clint looked hopeful. "Right now."

"Not now." James kissed Natasha's cheek. "Clint, why don't you go wake up your dad, then get dressed and come downstairs, we'll go on an adventure."

"Birthday adventure!" Clint yelled, flinging both hands up into the air. He and Natasha ran over to Steve's closed bedroom door, hammering on the wood with all their might.

While the children were occupied, James hoisted himself to his feet. There was no possibility that the kids were going back to sleep, so he may as well get ready for the day. As James reached for his prosthetic arm, the children continued their assault on the door. Suddenly, the door flew open, nearly sending Clint onto the floor. Steve blinked down at the children. "What's happening?"

"Daddy, don't you _remember_?" Clint scolded. "It's my birthday!"

Steve rubbed his eyes. "Really? I always thought it wasn't your birthday until the sun was out."

"That'll be soon," Natasha promised. "It's five-and-some. The sun wakes up at five-and-some- _more_ so it's the same thing."

"Is that a fact?" Steve asked, kneeling down. The sight of Steve Rogers on his knees like that, all sleepy and rumpled, sent a shameful shiver of desire through James' chest. He had to turn away, concentrating on the straps of his prosthesis. "Well, if you're six years old, how about the birthday bumps?"

Clint squealed and tried half-heartedly to dart away, but Steve caught the boy up and flipped him upside down.

"What's a birthday bump?" Natasha asked, honestly alarmed.

James flexed his metal arm to settle it, then hurried over to assist before Natasha got upset. "Some people do the birthday bumps on a kid's birthday to help them grow up big and strong," James said, catching Natasha around the middle before she tackled Steve.

Natasha turned outraged eyes on James. "Why'd you never bump me?" she demanded.

"I forgot how," James said. It was better than explaining how he was scared he'd hurt her, either by dropping her or being too rough.

"You gotta bump me next year, or _else_ ," Natasha said threateningly. Meanwhile, in the background, Steve was gently bumping Clint's head against the wooden floor, the boy's hands out to cushion his skull from any actual impact. Clint was laughing the entire time. "Else I'll never grow big!"

"I will give you the birthday bumps when you turn six," James promised, kissing the top of Natasha's head. "If you'll give me the birthday bumps when I get old."

"You're already old," Natasha informed him. She squirmed out of his grasp to run over to where Steve was letting Clint down. "Do you feel bigger?" she asked Clint.

Clint staggered as he regained his feet. "I'm taller," he said, straightening up to his full height. "Am I taller?"

"You look like it," James agreed, ruffling Clint's hair. "You kids get dressed and come downstairs. Remember what I said about a birthday adventure?"

"Adventure!" Natasha yelled, racing into the bedroom. Clint was on her heels. In the suddenly quiet loft, Steve and James looked at each other.

"Morning," Steve said, and yawned. "What kind of adventure?"

"You ever seen a Long Island sunrise?" James asked, reaching into his suitcase for a clean shirt.

"No."

"You're about to." James pulled the shirt over his head. "Get dressed, we're leaving in ten minutes."

Steve yawned again as he stumbled back into his bedroom. James grabbed his jeans to take downstairs. If he was going to carry through with this ridiculous plan, he was going to need enough coffee to sustain an army.

Steve and the children appeared just as the last of the coffee was dripping into the pot. Clint was in his swim trunks and a sweatshirt, while Natasha had chosen her rainbow leggings and her green shirt. Steve, as always, looked perfect in a t-shirt and colourful board shorts.

"I wanna see the sunrise!" Clint demanded, fumbling as he shoved his hearing aid into his ear.

"Soon." James poured coffee into two large mugs. "Grab a tiny milk from the fridge for each of you, okay?"

As Clint ran to the fridge, Natasha peered up at her father. "What can I do?" she asked.

"Huh." James looked around. "Why don't you get that basket over by the fireplace in case we want to collect shells or something."

Natasha scampered off before James had finished talking. "You got a job for me?" Steve asked in a quiet voice, leaning against the counter. The soft rumble of his voice sent a shiver down James' spine.

"Nah," James said over the sudden lump in his throat. "Got your camera?"

Steve patted his pocket. "You sleep well?"

"Sure," James said. It wasn't a complete lie; what little sleep he had gotten, after staring at the ceiling until two o'clock, had been fine. "May need a nap later, though."

"Think we can get the kids to nap today?" Steve asked, edging closer as the children returned.

"Our kids? _Today?_ " James elbowed Steve in the side. "You're dreaming."

"To be dreaming, I'd have to be still asleep." Steve looked down at the children, currently standing by his feet. "Hey."

"Can we _go_ now?" Clint asked plaintively. "Otherwise the sun will come up and we'll miss it!"

"Don't want to miss a thing," Steve said. "All right, milk cartons into the basket. I'll take that."

In another minute, they were all out the door. The children ran out onto the pre-dawn beach unencumbered; James followed with a cup of coffee in his hand. Steve came last carrying the large wicker basket that had been decorating the hearth, laden down with individual milk cartons, the kids' jackets, and snacks.

"Where are we going?" Natasha demanded, circling back on the adults.

"Out to the spit there," James said, pointing at the sandy rise topped with large flat rocks. "Come on, hurry up, otherwise we'll miss things."

"We won't!" Natasha vowed, running off at full speed. Clint was on her heels, demanding that she let him catch up because it was his birthday.

"It's going to be a good day," Steve said, smiling softly. "A really good day."

"You guys usually have a good day on Clint's birthday?" James asked.

"Yeah, usually." Steve sighed. "Sharon hasn't been around for the last two. Clint didn't seem to notice when he turned four, but last year…" Steve sighed again. "We were in New Jersey with Abraham, but Clint was upset about not seeing his mom."

"I can imagine." James slowed as they approached the rocks. The early morning dew clung heavy to the sand and the stones, not that the slipperiness slowed the children as they vied for the best space to watch the sunrise. "Kids, safety!" James snapped.

The children stopped their rock-top wrestling. "I want the best spot," Natasha said, crouching down onto her heels as James approached.

"So do I," Clint said.

"The sunrise is pretty big, you'll get a good view no matter where you are." James reached the rocks. "So I'm going to sit here."

Steve set the basket down beside James. "And I'm going to sit here." The man plopped himself down onto the stone at James' side. "How does that sound, Bucky?"

"That sounds wonderful, Steve."

The children looked at each other, then together they hurried over to their respective fathers and collapsed on their laps. "This is the best spot," Natasha declared, leaning back against James' chest. "The rock's too cold."

"Yeah," Clint said, giggling. "It's too cold for my toes."

"Do you need your jacket?" James asked.

 Natasha shook her head. "You're warm enough."

James hugged Natasha tight. "Let me know if you get chilly."

"Okay." Natasha wrapped her fingers around James' metal thumb. Beside them, Clint was chattering excitedly at Steve, and Steve was responding, if not with the same level of enthusiasm for their early morning adventure. "Daddy," Natasha said. "When is my birthday?"

"March eighth, honey, you know that."

"Is that my real birthday?"

James smoothed the hair back from Natasha's forehead with his right hand. "What does that mean?"

Natasha looked at him. "I dunno."

James kissed Natasha's forehead. "Your birthday is the day that you were born on," he said. "That was a few months before I met you, and even more before I got to take you home."

"When did you meet me?"

"In the middle of June." James pulled Natasha up higher on his lap. "I'd just come back from Germany and I was at the hospital setting up some meetings with a specialist and that's where Nick Fury found me and told me that he had someone he needed me to meet."

"I sure am glad he found you," Natasha said solemnly.

"Me too." Looking out at the horizon, James could see the beginning shimmer of the sun glowing below the horizon. "But you know what?"

"What?" Natasha asked.

"Every single thing that I'd ever done in my life, led me to that moment where I met you," James said. He urged Natasha to stand up beside him on the rock. "That moment right there, it was always going to happen."

Natasha put her arms around James' neck. "That's good," she declared. "I like that."

"Me too." James steadied Natasha with his prosthetic hand. "Now, be sure to keep watching, because here comes the sun."

"It's here!" Clint squeaked in excitement. "Daddy, I'm going to be _six_."

"I'm watching." Steve had his camera out and it was trained on Clint as the boy stared at the horizon.

"Shh!" Clint said. "If you're _loud_ I can't _see_!"

Natasha made a show of clapping her hands over her mouth as the first beam of sunlight burst over the watery horizon. The haze in the air tinged the sky reds and oranges, as the sun rose in its inevitable splendour.

For a long time, no one spoke. Then Clint clambered down off the rock and went over to the basket. "Well," he said as he pulled out a milk carton. "Now I'm six. I'm _old._ "

"You're holding up pretty well." James retrieved the other milk carton and handed it to Natasha. "What's this about not being six until sunrise?"

"I was born at dawn," Clint said, then took a long swallow of milk. "Mommy said so. She said, if I was a girl she was going to call me Dawn, but I wasn't a girl so she called me Clint instead."

"Of course," James said gravely.

"My mommy called me Natasha before she put me in the trashcan," Natasha contributed to the conversation. "Daddy, I can't open this milk."

James took the carton from Natasha. "Nat, for the hundredth time, no one left you in a trashcan." He handed back the open carton. "Your birth mother took you to the hospital and told the nurses that she wanted you to go up for adoption because it would be the best thing for you."

Natasha shrugged. "Sometimes when I have dreams, I'm in the trashcan," the girl said. "So I think you're wrong."

Okay, this was new. James floundered for a few moments, before pulling himself together. "I'm pretty sure I'm not wrong, but we can ask Director Fury, okay?"

"Okay." Natasha sipped at her milk. "Director Fury knows everything," she explained to Clint. "He is the best, even if he is a pirate."

"He's not a pirate," James said automatically, but the children paid no attention.

Clint shoved his milk carton at Steve. "Now that I am _six_ ," Clint said, "Can I go play in the sand?"

"Yes," Steve said. "See if you can find any shells. Stay where we can see you."

Natasha put her milk carton on the rock and tore after Clint down the sandy beach. With a sigh, James stretched out a kink in his back. "Born at dawn, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sharon was in labour for twenty hours and I remember she kept asking when the sun was coming out, something to focus on."

"Was he born on his due date?" James asked, mildly curious. He'd never had to wonder about any of that with Natasha; his introduction to parenting had taken half an hour, not nine months.

"A couple of weeks early," Steve said. "He was ready, though. Seven pounds. Sharon said she was glad it hadn't taken any longer; she was getting real tired of not being able to see her feet."

"Hmm." James, who had zero experience with pregnant women, wasn't sure what else to add at this point, so he kept his eyes on the children. They were running back and forth on the sand, picking up a stone here, turning over a shell there. After a time, Clint dropped to his knees and began digging a hole in the sand. Natasha kept running around, bringing small objects over to Clint's location.

Steve yawned loudly. "The cake's coming at five," he said. "Dinner at six?"

"Yeah, if the kids stay up for it."

"Hell, if I stay up for it." Steve reached for his coffee cup from where he had put it down on the stone. "I was thinking that we could do presents after lunch."

"Sure." James rubbed his eyes. Damn, he was exhausted. "You going to tell me what you got for Clint?"

"It's a surprise."

"You can tell me."

"I told you," Steve said as he punched James playfully in the leg. "It's a surprise."

"Fine," James grumbled. "See if I tell you what I've got planned for Natasha's birthday."

"Fine." Steve was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "You're taking her to Disneyland, aren't you?"

"Fuck off, Rogers."

Steve laughed. "She'll be over the moon."

"I hope so," James said. "With what it's going to cost me. We're going before her birthday, to skip the spring break crowds." He held up his metal hand. "This is okay, too. At least at the park. Flying there is going to be a bitch, with security."

"Isn't there some sort of doctor's note you can get?"

James shrugged, putting his hand back in his lap. "Probably. It's just such a pain in the ass."

"Do you have to fly?"

"What else could I do, drive?" James shrugged. "Not with Nat so young, it's too much driving. I thought about heading down to Florida, but even then it's too long in the car. I've got plans for a road trip when she's older, like maybe seven or eight."

"What road trip?" Steve asked, curious.

James glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You'll think it's stupid."

"I will not."

James took a deep breath. "It's just an idea I had. When we were in Afghanistan, there were a bunch of Canadians we worked with. A few of them were talking about this thing, and I thought, after I got back and adopted Natasha and stuff, that maybe one day we could drive up there."

"Up where?"

"The Calgary Stampede," James said reluctantly. "That's in Alberta. Up north of Montana."

"I know where Alberta is," Steve said. "Just… I mean, it sounds interesting, but… why?"

James shrugged. "When you're out in the middle of a sandstorm in a place so far from home, you start making deals with yourself. If I make it through this, I'm going to buy that car I wanted. Or go places, or make things right with family." James reached for his coffee, realized that he'd already drunk it all, so went for Natasha's half-finished milk carton instead. "After my mom died, I thought I'd try to be a family with Rebecca again, but…" James looked at Natasha. His daughter was helping Clint dig, her red hair glowing in the dawn light. "What she said about Natasha put a nail in that. So all I got left are travel plans."

"What did she say?"

"About Natasha?" James shook his head. "That I was making a mistake in taking her in. That a sick kid would only be a burden. Then it turned into her saying she wasn't sure if men like me should be around little kids."

"She said _what_?"

James shrugged again. He'd put his mother's death to rest a long time ago, same with his father, but talking about the last time he had spoken to his sister ripped that wound open afresh. "I told her she was wrong, that she sounded just like dad, and that was the last time we spoke to each other." James rubbed his hand over his face. "Can we not talk about her anymore?"

"Sure," Steve said with some effort. "So. Calgary?"

James breathed in, forcing the memories down. "Yeah. I figured we'll drive through Chicago, then up across North Dakota and Montana. I thought that would be a nice drive, you know? May take a few days, we can stop along the way."

"That does sound really nice," Steve said wistfully. "I've never really taken Clint anywhere. Mostly just to visit Abraham. We went to Philadelphia on the train once, staying overnight. Clint didn't like it that much."

"He likes this trip," James said. "He's such an easy-going little guy."

"He's the best," Steve said. "Same with Natasha. Great kids."

"Yes." James stood. "You want to go see if they want birthday pancakes?"

 Steve, his face lit up by the early morning sunlight, fairly glowed as he smiled up at James. "I would love to," he said as he bounced to his feet.

"Ugh," James muttered under his breath, but picked up the basket and followed Steve without protest.

"What are you doing?" Steve called to the kids as they drew near.

Clint and Natasha sat back. In the bottom of the shallow hole lay a mound of tiny pebbles, shells, and scraps of driftwood. "We're building a goodbye hole," Clint said.

"A what?"

"A goodbye hole," Natasha repeated, rolling her eyes as if Steve was being particularly dense.

"We put all the bad things that happened since I was five into the hole, and say goodbye to them," Clint said. He dropped one last rock onto the pile and wiped his hands in satisfaction. "That's what Skye says her aunt does."

"No, she _said_ that her Aunt May took her problems and put them in the _ground_ ," Natasha interrupted. "I said we should put them in the _sand_."

"And then we'll put a rock on top and say goodbye," Clint finished.

James, who was beginning to worry about the exact line of business that Skye's Aunt May was in, put the basket on the sand as Steve said, "Clint, buddy, can you tell me what your problems are?"

"Sure." Clint leaned into the pit to point at a collection of broken shells. "That's Mrs. Anders getting mad at me because I was 'ruptive. And that one's not knowing how to do soccer right the first time." He moved his finger to indicate a round stone. "And that's brussels sprouts."

"I put a problem in the hole," Natasha said. She picked up a broken piece of driftwood. "This is me not going to Disneyland this year." She cast a dark glare at her father.

"That is a good problem to put to rest," James agreed. "What happens when you put a problem in the hole? Do you forget about it?"

"No, you don't forget," Clint said. "It just doesn't make you sad anymore." He turned to Natasha. "Let's push all the sand back in now."

"Okay."

Together, the children filled the hole with sand. After the sand was patted back into place by tiny hands, Clint did the honours of placing a long flat stone on top of the little mound. He stood up, wiping his sandy hands on his shorts. "Goodbye, hole," Clint said seriously. Then he took his father's hand. "Daddy, I'm hungry."

"How about pancakes?" Steve suggested.

Both children burst into cheers. "I like pancakes!" Clint exclaimed. "Can you make face pancakes today?"

"I can try."

Natasha tugged on James' hand. "Why don't you ever make me face pancakes?" she asked.

"I'm not as creative as Steve is," James said. "He went to art school."

Steve raised his eyebrows at this, but Natasha nodded in understanding. "You can make the coffee," Natasha offered. "You're good at that."

"Why, thank you," James said. "Now, who wants to race back to the house?"

Natasha and Clint immediately dashed off, leaving the adults in their dust. "You okay with all that?" Steve asked, indicating the basket.

James glared.

"Just checking." Steve flashed James a wide smile, then ran after the children, his long legs eating up the distance in no time flat. James followed at what could best be described as a slow shamble. By the time he reached the house, Steve already had a fresh pot of coffee brewing and the children were helping him stir pancake mix.

Leaving the three chefs in the kitchen, James went upstairs. He tidied his sleeping area, set the children's room in order, then sat at the top of the stairs for a while watching Steve interacting with the kids.

It was so interesting to watch Clint and Natasha with other adults. When they were with Skye, the kids would often get so engrossed in their activities that they would hardly look to Skye at all, except if they needed instruction. With James, they were so involved in themselves that they barely acknowledged his presence.

But with Steve, it was different. The kids both hung on every word Steve said, took in his every action and movement. And it wasn't one-sided; Steve was paying close attention to both children, answering every question and catching tiny hands before they reached into the frying pan.

At the moment, Steve was saying, "What should I make the next pancake?"

"Make it a clown," Clint said immediately.

"Make it Mickey Mouse," Natasha added.

"I'll do a clown first, then Mickey Mouse," Steve said, handing the spatula to Natasha. "Clint, will you stir the batter?"

Solemnly, Clint twirled the spoon around in the larger bowl, while Natasha held the spatula with both hands. "Steve," Natasha said. "Can you make a special pancake for my daddy?"

"Of course I can," Steve said. Holding a small bowl, he spooned batter onto the griddle to make a shape. "What should that special pancake look like?"

This question was cause for some serious consideration. The children whispered amongst themselves for a few minutes, then Natasha piped up with, "A coffee cup."

"Of course," Steve said. "After I make the clown, and then the Mickey, I'll make Bucky a coffee cup pancake."

"My dad makes the best pancakes," Clint said with relish. "And hot dogs. And macaroni and cheese."

"My dad makes good sandwiches," Natasha said. She let Steve take the spatula from her hands. "And he makes good oatmeal. And he can order the best takeout."

"My dad makes the best drawings," Clint said.

Natasha turned to Clint, frowning. "My dad can fix anything!"

"My dad can lift me over his head!"

"My dad lets me wear princess dresses!" Natasha shot back, starting to get angry. Sighing at the brevity of his respite, James headed down the stairs.

"My dad lets me shoot arrows!"

"My dad reads me stories _every night_!"

"My dad lets me take bubble baths!"

James let out a piercing whistle. The children glared at him. "Why are we yelling?" he asked.

"That is an excellent question," Steve asked, flipping a clown pancake onto a plate. "Kids, Bucky's good at some things, and I'm good at some other things. Just like you each are good at a lot of things too."

"Exactly." James made show of pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. "And it's always good to tell your friends what you like about them. For example." James took a sip of coffee, then let out an appreciative sigh. "I think that Steve makes great coffee."

"And I think that Bucky is an excellent driver," Steve said. He added a bit of oil to the griddle, then reached for the batter bowl. "Clint, what's something that you think Natasha does really good?"

Clint wrinkled his nose. "Natasha does good dancing," he said after a minute. "And she is a good dinosaur."

Natasha beamed. "Aw, thanks!"

"What about you, Nat?" James said. "What's something good that Clint does?"

"Clint is a good dinosaur too," Natasha said. "And he does good drawing. And he can climb real high and run real far."

"Right on all accounts." James set his cup down. "Now, you kids help me set the table while Steve finishes up with the pancakes, okay?"

Steve lifted Natasha and Clint off the counter before going back to the griddle. It only took James and the children a few minutes to set the table, then James sent the children upstairs to wash their hands before breakfast. In the temporary silence, James slumped into a chair at the table and let himself sit still, just for a moment.

"You up for a swim after breakfast?" Steve asked. The hiss from the griddle drew James' attention.

"Sure," James said. "What do you think they'll get up to today?"

"Dinosaurs." Steve set down his spatula. "I seem to recall Tony having some floating toys for the pool, somewhere. I'll look in the storage shed when we get out there."

"Sounds good. It would do Nat some good, to get used to playing in the water with toys. Get her used to the idea."

"Yeah." Steve went to the coffee pot. "Hey, so, Bucky."

James held in a sigh. He knew that tone. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask a favour?"

From the expression on Steve's face, James doubted that this would be about the children. "Sure."

"It's just… with sunscreen, you know, sometimes it's hard to reach between my shoulder blades." Steve's expression was as innocent and pure as new snow. "It's going to be a hot one today. Would you be able to help me out?"

James hesitated, waiting for the inevitable _no homo_ quip or something equally asinine, but Steve was just staring at him with wide eyes. "Sure," James said, although he was casting around for some idea on not embarrassing himself while touching Steve's back. His broad, muscular, perfect back. "It's a good idea. For the kids. Set a good example." God, he sounded like a complete _idiot_.

But Steve was just grinning at him. "I know, right? I used to just tan, not bother with sunscreen. Had one hell of a farmer's tan one year." He laughed. "But Clint has more of Sharon's coloring. He burns a lot easier than me."

Unbidden, an image of a younger Steve Rogers popped into James' imagination. Slim and muscular and bare-chested, tanned and beautiful. James swallowed hard. "Yeah, of course."

Still smiling, Steve turned back to the griddle. James stood up, coffee cup in hand, and made his way to the doorway, where he leaned against the doorframe to look out at the beach. There, he made himself breathe evenly and waited for his hormones to get back under control.

James just didn't understand. Since the explosion in Iraq, since he'd come back home missing an arm and a few liters of blood, he'd wondered if the explosion had left him a bit more damaged than just the physical. Sure, he could still get it up in the shower, and his somewhat embarrassing crush on George Clooney had not abated, but most days, he didn't spare much thought to physical attraction.

Then Steve Rogers had reappeared in his life, and suddenly James' libido popped into high gear. Fine, on most days, but not when they were in such close proximity on this vacation.

James took a deep breath. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was thirty-two, an old man. He'd seen more and done more in life than most people. He was too old and too used up to be thinking like this. Even if Steve hadn't been straight, he'd never go for some used-up cripple like James. Especially not knowing as much as he did about James' background.

"Daddy?" Natasha called. James turned around. "What are you doing?"

"I'm drinking coffee," James said. "Is it time to eat?"

"Yes, it's pancake time!" Natasha shouted as she ran to the table, Clint on her heels.

James squared his shoulders. This vacation was about Natasha and Clint. His particular problems had no place here.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down to properly appreciate Steve's pancake art. And if he didn't look at Steve until the meal was almost over… well, Steve didn't call him on it, and the kids were too excited to notice.

* * *

In spite of James' misgivings, the morning continued unimpeded. After breakfast, James and Steve cleaned up while the children dressed for the pool. James didn't feel much like another day in the pool, but he knew that if Clint would brave the deep end, Natasha would demand to be included. And Steve couldn't watch two children on his own in the water.

When everyone was ready, they walked up to the pool. The sun umbrellas were still up from the previous day, but a newly filled ice bucket sat on the table beside another note.

"I wanna read it!" Clint yelled, bolting over to the table. Steve followed him, dumping his armload of towels and books onto a nearby chair.

"Nat, sunscreen," James ordered. Natasha scowled at him, but she submitted to the application of sunscreen. She was wearing her purple 'party' bathing suit, and James hoped she could last the day without ripping any of the ruffles.

"Come on," Steve said, pulling Clint over beside James. "You can read while we put on sunscreen."

Clint stared at the note, sounding out the letters to himself while his father applied sunscreen. There was some whispered discussion between father and son as Clint attempted to decipher the note.

"All done," James said to Natasha, making one last swipe down her nose.

"Your turn," Natasha said, turning on him with the sunscreen bottle in her hands. He submitted to the manhandling, watching Clint and Steve working on the letter.

"You want to try it now?" Steve asked, patting Clint on the shoulder.

"Yup." Clint took a deep breath. "It says, 'Good morning'." He glanced up to make sure that Natasha was observing his display of literary competence. "And then it says, 'happy birthday to Clint'! That's me," Clint added, in case they had forgotten.

"What else does it say?" Steve urged.

Clint looked at the note again. "It says, 'There are cold drinks in the pool house fridge'." He pronounced the last word as 'fri-de-guh'. " 'Have a won-der-ful swim. Call the house if you need any-thing. Lucy.' "

"That's very nice of her," Steve said. "Don't you think so?"

"Uh huh," Clint said as he took off his glasses. "Can I go get a juice now?"

"You just had breakfast," Steve reminded him, ruffling the boy's hair. "How about we swim for a bit first?"

"I think we should get the juice first," Natasha said solemnly, wiping her hands on James' bicep. "Not to drink. Just to look at."

"If it's just to look at," Steve said. He held out his hand, and the children each took a hand to pull him along toward the pool house.

Quickly, James rubbed sunscreen on his chest and as much of his back as he could reach, then did his legs and the tops of his feet before heading over to the hot tub. He had the waterfall and dolphin fountain spurting water before the children emerged with their hands full of juice bottles.

"I wanna put mine in the bucket," Clint said.

"I wanna put _mine_ in the bucket!" Natasha protested, frowning at Clint.

"Settle down, you can put both bottles in the ice bucket," Steve said. He patted them on the shoulders. "Go try it."

The children ran across the patio to the table, jockeying for position. Steve followed, picking up his sunscreen from the top of the folded towels. James joined him. "Want to lay odds that they'll get into a fight today?" James asked.

"They're tired," Steve said. He squirted a gob of sunscreen onto his hand. "They'll feel better after a bit of exercise and a nap."

"You feel like putting them down for a nap?" James asked, but his mouth was running without any input from his brain, because Steve was in the process of rubbing sunscreen all over his body.

This was unfair. Steve's muscular body moved easily, gracefully. He was downright _impossible_ ; but it was more than that. His body wasn't scarred with gruesome reminders of damage and pain.

In that moment, James wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss Steve or punch him.

"Let's try before lunch," Steve was saying. "It would be better if Clint had some sleep before he opens his presents."

"Sure," James said. He reached his right arm up and behind his head, trying to reach that spot between his shoulder blades where he was pretty sure Natasha had left a gob of sunscreen lotion. "We can try, right?"

"Yup," Steve said with one final rub. He turned to James. "Hey, want me to get that for you?"

And James' day just kept getting better. This particular situation was not one that he had dealt with before – in high school and later in the Army, men didn't usually offer to rub sunscreen on each other's backs. But James knew Steve pretty well by now, and he knew that Steve's offer of sunscreen was just that. No hidden meaning, not a way to trick James into doing anything he didn't want to do. It was just an innocent offer.

Taking a deep breath, James nodded. "Sure, could you?" he said as casually as he could. "I think Nat missed a few spots."

Steve cracked a wide grin. "It looks like," he said, moving around behind James. "She gave it a good effort, though."

Although James had braced himself for Steve's touch, the physical sensation of Steve's fingers running down his back sent a shiver through his body, and not a pleasant one. Suddenly very happy that he was facing away from Steve, James made himself hold still as Steve rubbed his hand over James' back. It took only a few seconds and then Steve's hand was gone from James' skin.

"All done," Steve said cheerfully. James closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to _pull himself together_. Having a panic attack on the pool patio just because Steve was helping him avoid a sunburn was not only irrational, it was pathetic. "Can you do me next?"

"Sure," James said, because apparently this was his life now. He turned around. "Where's this spot you can't reach on your own?"

Steve was still smiling as he handed James the bottle of sunscreen. "Right under my shoulder blades," he said, turning his broad back to James.

James could see what Steve meant. There was a patch of skin in the middle of Steve's perfect back that was slightly less shiny than the rest of him. "Give me a sec."

With his thumb, James flipped open the bottle's lid, then squirted a bit of lotion onto his left arm stump. Closing the lid, James tucked the bottle between his left arm and his side before scooping the lotion up onto his fingers. From there, it was only the work of a few moments to slather Steve's skin with the lotion and rub it in.

"Finished," James said. He stepped away from Steve as the other man turned around. "You should take this, though. For later." He handed over the bottle.

"Thanks," Steve said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, as if he'd already gotten too much sun on his face. James wondered if he'd put sunscreen on his own face when he'd been helping Clint earlier on.

But James wasn't about to tell the man what to do; Steve was a grown man and didn't need James treating him like a kid.

To distract from the moment, James asked a question he had been meaning to since he'd run into Steve in the parking lot months before. "How much can you lift?"

"A bit," Steve said. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I mean, a lot, I guess."

"More than me," James said. The children were being suspiciously quiet over by the little table. James edged in their direction as he continued speaking to Steve. "It took me a few years to rebuild my upper body strength after the accident, you know?"

By this time, James was close enough to the kids to see what they were up to, and what he saw did not make him happy.

"I thought you told Steve that you weren't going to drink your juice yet if we got the bottles out of the fridge for you," James said to the children.

Natasha, who had been in the process of taking a hit off a bottle of juice, pulled back guiltily. Clint wiped a juice mustache from his upper lip. The children looked at each other. "This isn't _our_ juice," Natasha said after a minute. Clint nodded in agreement.

"Oh yeah?" James raised his eyebrows. "Then what are you drinking?"

The children consulted again. "My dad's," Clint said reluctantly.

James held out his hand, and Natasha gave him the half-empty apple juice bottle. "Did you ask Steve if you could have some of his drink?"

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "He was _sharing_ ," she said.

James glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who appeared amused, before turning back to the children. "If he was sharing his juice with you two peanuts, then you'll share with him later on, right?"

Clint's shoulders slumped, resigned, but Natasha glared up at her father.

"Right?"

"Okay," Clint said, slipping off his chair. He tugged on Natasha's arm. "Let's go play in the waterfall."

"Okay." Natasha joined Clint, turning her back on her father and his juice rule enforcement. James put the half-drunk bottle into the ice bucket, shaking his head.

"That was a good plan," Steve said in James' ear, amusement in his voice. "They didn't actually break any rule."

"That's what worries me," James said. "They'll find ways around the rules and then they look at me like I'm the lunatic when I point it out."

"Cunning and daring," Steve said. "They're a perfect pair." He patted James on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go keep them company."

James breathed out through his nose. Not even eight in the morning yet, and he was so tired he wanted to go back to sleep. "Sure," he said. "Party time."

Across the patio, Clint let out a shriek as Natasha splashed him with water. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"But I want to stay at the pool!" Natasha cried, trying to physically drag her father back into the wading pool.

"Natasha, we've been down here for over three hours," James said, standing between Natasha and the water. "We've all had a long morning, and now we are all going back to the house so we can have a shower and some lunch."

"But I want to stay at the pool!" Natasha repeated, stamping her bare feet on the tiles. "And so does Clint!"

James looked over to where Steve was standing. The man had Clint swathed in a big towel and was holding him on one arm, the little boy's eyes drooping with exhaustion. "We can come back after lunch," James said, holding out Natasha's towel. "Come on, we can come back to the pool later."

"You're taking all the fun away," Natasha shouted, wrapping the big fluffy towel around her shoulders. "I want to stay! And have more fun!"

"I know," James said, commiserating. He knelt down to pick Natasha up, trying not to wince as she wailed into his ear. "I'm a terrible, horrible, no-fun dad."

"You are!" Natasha said accusingly. Her arms tightened around his neck as James straightened up and headed off towards the beach house. "You're no fun!"

"Yup." James kissed the side of Natasha's head. "Did you have fun this morning in the pool, though?"

Natasha sniffled, coughed on his cheek, and said in a more subdued tone, "Yeah."

"It's fun playing with Clint in the pool, right?"

Another sniffle. "Yeah."

"And you two had a really fun game of water dinosaurs?"

"Uh huh. I like to be the big crocodile dinosaur."

Steve, who was walking at James' side, grinned at them. "Playing dinosaurs with your best friend is pretty cool, isn't it?" he asked.

Natasha leaned back on James' arm to fix Steve with a mighty glare. "Playing _water_ dinosaurs," she informed him, "Is the _best_."

"I completely agree," Steve said. "I wish that when Bucky and I were kids, we had thought about playing dinosaurs."

Natasha's eyes grew wide. "You didn't?" she demanded. "What did you play?"

"Oh, all kinds of things," Steve said. By this time, Clint had closed his eyes completely and was draped over Steve's shoulder. "We played GI Joe. And Star Wars."

"What's Star Wars?" Natasha asked.

Steve looked at James, who shook his head. "That's on our list for when Nat is seven," James said.

Steve nodded in understanding. "Clint hasn't seen it either," he said. "I keep meaning to put it on, but you know how it is."

"Not a lot of time for a ten-hour movie marathon?" James hazarded.

"And Clint doesn't like to sit still," Steve said. Natasha's interest in the conversation had waned, and she was now looking out at the mid-day sea on the horizon. "He ever sit through a movie with you guys?"

James considered. "We got halfway through Aladdin with Skye, the last time it rained," he said. "But yeah, Clint was up and down."

"What do you think about showing them Jurassic Park?" Steve asked, picking his way down the slope to the beach house.

"No," James said immediately. "We can put that on the list for seven."

"Too scary?"

"We saw that when it came out in the theater, remember?" James said. "When the R-A-P-T-O-R-S came on, you nearly wet your pants."

"Why?" Natasha asked sleepily.

"Because he spilled his soda," James said smoothly. "Sometimes, in a movie, something happens that can make you jump."

"I won't jump," Natasha said. "I'm a big girl."

"Do you know what we're talking about?" James asked.

"No." Natasha yawned widely. "Daddy, I want to go back to the pool."

Inside the house, Steve and James got the children upstairs, stripped them out of their bathing suits and into the big shower to rinse them off, then into clean clothes and back downstairs without either child waking fully. James, who took a minute to change into dry shorts and a t-shirt, settled with the children onto the downstairs couch. "Why don't we sit here for a few minutes?" he asked in a soothing tone. "Just a few. Then we can have lunch."

"I don't want to sit," Clint protested sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He had refused to put on his glasses or hearing aid, and Steve had not pressed the point. "It's my birthday, I wanna have fun."

"Me too," Natasha said, as she burrowed in under James' arm. "Lots of fun."

"We can have lots of fun in a few minutes," James said. "I'll sit here with you."

Steve settled on the loveseat opposite. "Would it help if I told you guys a story?" he asked.

Clint yawned so widely that James could see the boy's back teeth. "I wanna story," Clint said as he leaned against James' other side. "A story about the bear."

"Winnie the Pooh," Steve said with a smile. "Well, Winnie the Pooh was a little brown bear, who lived in the woods, and he was friends with a little boy named Christopher Robin."

Natasha was asleep before Steve had finished the first introductions, but Clint held out until Steve was detailing the inside of Pooh's little underground house. But his weight was heavy on James' side, his fingers wrapped in James' shirt, and James knew he was stuck there until the children awoke.

"Stay," Steve whispered as he stood up. "I'll get lunch started. You stay with the kids."

James, whose eyelids had grown ever-so-heavy, settled himself deeper onto the couch, the weight of two sleeping children keeping him in place. He was so tired that he didn't even worry about waking with a nightmare or scaring the children. " 'kay," he mumbled, and let himself close his eyes.

Steve was there to keep them safe. And that was enough.

* * *

Some soft noise drew James awake. He blinked, momentarily disoriented. The room was bright and quiet, and his head felt stuffy like it always did after a mid-day nap.

Behind him, he heard Natasha speak, her voice high-pitched and questioning, then Steve's deeper voice answering her quietly. There was a soft plink of cutlery against ceramic. Had James slept through lunch?

He blinked hard, trying to rid himself of the fogginess in his head, then rolled onto his side on the couch. Clint was kneeling by the fireplace hearth, scribbling industriously on a large piece of construction paper. He was wearing both glasses and hearing aid, and his hair had dried sticking up in every direction.

When the boy noticed that James' eyes were open, he sat up. "Hi," Clint said, and sat back. "How come you fart?"

James blinked again. He wasn't awake enough for these kinds of questions. "Huh?"

"When you fart," Clint said patiently. "Can you keep a fart in your bum?"

With an effort, James sat up. "No," he said, rubbing his hand over his face. The day's stubble rasped under his palm. "When you need to fart, just fart it out."

Clint considered this. "But what if I want to save the fart for later?"

James stared at the boy. "Why would you need to do that?"

Clint shrugged. "Just 'cause."

No doubt to spring it on some unsuspecting parent. James pushed his hair back. "You'll always be able to fart when you need to," he said. "What time is it?"

Clint looked at his watch. "It is one and…" He squinted at the watch face, counting under his breath. "Twenty-two."

Crap. James hoped that he hadn't messed up Clint's birthday plans. "Did you guys eat lunch already?"

"No," Clint said, pushing his drawing back on the hearthstones. "Daddy gave us a birthday snack. Peanut butter toast with _sprinkles_."

That sounded disgusting, but from the grin on Clint's face, the kids had enjoyed it. "Are you ready for real lunch?" James asked, reaching out his hand to Clint. "Come on, pull me up."

Clint took James' hand in both of his and leaned back, trying to haul the grown man to his feet. James rose slowly, pretending that Clint's efforts were the only thing pulling him up. "Yeah, lunchtime," Clint said once James was standing. He was panting a little with the effort. "Hey, then can I open my presents?"

"We'll ask your dad," James said, although he knew that was Steve's plan. "What's for lunch?"

Steve looked up as Clint and James approached the kitchen. Natasha was standing on a chair at the counter beside Steve, an over-large apron tied around her waist. "Open-faced sandwiches," Steve said easily. "Natasha is helping me."

"I am making the _best_ sandwiches," Natasha said, her very serious expression bringing a smile to James' lips. "Steve puts on the stuff but I make them the best."

"Nat is making the sandwiches look artistic," Steve said, smiling at James. He nodded to the coffee pot, where he had put his camera for safekeeping. James reached for it, wanting to capture the moment for posterity.

Clint climbed up onto the chair at Natasha's side. "Hey, that's peanut butter!" he exclaimed, pointing. "Can I have that one?"

"Yes, and that is mine," Natasha said, pointing at a piece of bread piled high with cheese and garnished with a smiling face made out of thinly sliced celery.

"You sure make good lunches," Clint said, looking at Natasha in admiration.

Natasha beamed. "Making lunches is fun!" she informed him "When I was just a little kid, my daddy made lunches and I didn't help. But I can help now because I'm almost six!"

"I help my dad make breakfast sometimes," Clint said. "But I should do lunches too."

"You can both help Skye making lunches next week," James said as he readied the camera. "Okay, everyone look over here."

Three faces turned in James' direction.

"Now, say 'gorgonzola'!"

Steve and Natasha managed the word, but Clint cracked up as James snapped the picture. Steve set about untying Natasha's apron as Clint, still snorting in hysterical laughter, jumped down from the chair to run over to the table.

In the resulting melee of getting plates and children to the table, James said to Steve, "Why did you let me sleep?"

Steve shrugged. "You looked real tired last night," he said quietly. "And Clint got you up so early. I thought it couldn't hurt."

James wanted to push back, to snap that he didn't need to be coddled; if anything, he needed less sleep than Steve, a civilian, would. But he was still so tired, and his head felt fuzzy, and the last thing he wanted to do on Clint's birthday was to get into another fight with Steve. "Thanks," James said under his breath, then went to help Natasha settle onto her chair for lunch.

The sandwiches were delicious and everyone was hungry, so the meal finished quickly. James chomped on the last celery stick as Natasha pushed her plate towards him, offering her uneaten crusts. "Daddy, can we go swimming?" she asked hopefully.

"Well," James said, looking toward Steve. "I think that there are plans already."

Steve took up this obvious cue. "You know, I think that Bucky should take you kids down to the beach to look for driftwood for tonight's fire," he said. "I'll clean up the dishes."

Clint and Natasha, who had never demonstrated any real affinity for cleaning up, scrambled off their chairs. "Go upstairs and get your sun hats!" James called after them. "And sandals!" Once the children were out of earshot up the stairs, James turned to Steve. "Time for presents?"

"I need to wrap a few of them first," Steve said. "Can you keep them busy for half an hour?"

"Sure." James stood. He wasn't sure if he should put on his arm. Carrying back driftwood would be difficult for a one-handed man. On the other hand, if something went terribly wrong and James had to make an at-sea rescue, the metal arm would only hinder.

He'd leave the arm in the house. They could always stash any driftwood above the high tide mark and come back for it later.

"Thanks, Bucky," Steve said with a blinding grin. "You're the best."

All he'd done was promise to keep two children busy for thirty minutes, James wanted to say, but his brain couldn't focus into words with Steve looking at him like that. He managed a shaky smile. "Yell if you need anything," was all James could say, then the children were storming down the stairs, ready for their beach outing.

Conscious of their cover story, James herded the children down to the stone outcropping marking one edge of the estate. The children alternated between picking up small bits of driftwood to bring over to James, and digging in the damp sand with sticks. James helped loosen the caked sand, then stood back to let the children play.

It was a lovely day, James thought as he looked out at the horizon. The calm horizon was dotted with tiny sailboats and fishing vessels, with only a light breeze blowing in cool off the water. If James had a place like this, he'd hardly ever go into the city. Everything was perfect.

Behind him, Natasha let out a screech. "Daddy!" she yelled. "I found a rock!" She hoisted it in one sandy paw. "Can I keep it?"

James went back to the children to examine Natasha's find. It was a lumpy grey stone, about the size of James' fist, that had been buried under six inches of sand. "You can bring it back to the house with us," James said. "Let's go rinse it off."

Clint walked with them down to the water's edge, where the waves were sloshing gently on the sand. Once Natasha's new treasure had been rinsed clean of sand and deposited in the pocket of James' cargo shorts, the children splashed around in the surf. James, who wanted to avoid any water-based disasters on Clint's birthday, stood knee-deep in the water, to be able to intercept any child who strayed too far into the ocean.

After a while, Steve appeared at the top of the hill. He waved at James, then disappeared back into the house. James started heading out of the water. "Come on," he yelled at the kids. "Let's go back inside, I think Steve has a super-duper surprise."

Clint stared up at James, his mouth open. "A surprise?" he squeaked. "A _birthday_ surprise?"

James shrugged. "Why don't you go back to the house and find out?"

"A surprise!" Clint shouted, and took off towards the house at full speed.

"Wait for me!" Natasha cried out, running after her best friend. "I want to see too!"

James scooped up the children's abandoned sandals, then jogged up to the house. He arrived to find Steve holding the glass door closed from the outside, preventing the children from entering. "Daddy, what's the surprise?" Clint was demanding, hanging off Steve's arm. Natasha was attempting to pry the door open while Steve was distracted.

"Hey, give it a minute," James said, tossing the sandals down on the patio tiles. "The first rule with any surprise is you gotta be patient."

"Bucky's right," Steve said, wedging his foot against the door. "You need to wait just a few more seconds."

Clint lifted his feet off the ground, so Steve's arm was supporting his whole weight. "I want to see it now!" the boy exclaimed.

Steve curled his arm and lifted Clint into the air. "You do, huh?"

James caught Natasha around the middle, pulling her away from the door. "How about we let Clint go in first, okay?" he said.

Natasha wriggled in his grasp. "Okay, but I want to go in next!" she informed her father.

"If you insist." James looked at Steve. "Ready?"

 Steve set Clint down. "Ready."

James opened the door. Clint stormed into the house, followed closely by Natasha. This resulted in the inevitable spill, when Clint stopped suddenly in the middle of the floor and Natasha crashed into him, nearly sending them both to the ground. James and Steve hurried over to set the children on their feet. Natasha proclaimed loudly that she was fine, but Clint was too busy staring to have even noticed the impact.

James could understand why Clint had stopped so suddenly. In their brief absence, Steve had transformed the main floor of the house, streamers and balloons decorating nearly every surface, and a 'Happy Birthday!' banner tacked above the fireplace.

Clint was staring at a small pile of presents stacked on the table. It was not a large pile; James thought there were maybe ten wrapped packages, but the wrapping paper was brightly colored and shiny, and the sun coming in through the windows glinted and gleamed off every surface.

"How does that look?" Steve asked Clint, kneeling down beside his son. "That looks like an awful lot of presents."

"For me?" Clint breathed, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "All for _me_?"

"Yup." Steve smoothed the hair back from Clint's forehead. "You want to open them?"

Clint nodded, never taking his eyes off the presents.

"Daddy," Natasha said, taking hold of James' hand. "Did you give Clint my present?" She looked worried.

"Yes, I did," James said, bending over to pick Natasha up. "See? It's right there." James indicated a small bundle awkwardly wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. Natasha had insisted on wrapping her gift herself, in her favorite red and green wrapping paper, and James knew better by this point than to argue on the small things.

Clint walked over to the table and climbed onto a chair, staring down onto his presents. He put his hands flat against his chest as he looked, eyes wide as saucers behind his glasses. "All for me," he breathed. "Look, Natasha, I have presents!"

"Yeah, it's your birthday!" Natasha exclaimed. She wiggled until James put her onto the chair beside Clint's. "You gonna open a present?"

"Yeah!" Clint looked at Steve. "Can I? Open a present?"

"You can open all your presents," Steve said, sitting down at the table. "You ready to start?"

"Okay." Clint pressed his hands over his mouth, staring at the packages as if he was trying to decide which one to open first.

James nudged Steve's shoulder. "Where's your camera?" he asked in an undertone. It wasn't like Steve not to be taking pictures of such a momentous occasion.

Steve inclined his head at the counter, where his camera sat, pointed at the table. The little red light on top was shining solid, an indication that it was recording video. "Abraham would kill me if I didn't record this for him," Steve said with a smile. "Come on, sit down."

James rounded the table to sit beside Natasha, ready to jump in with a constraining hand if the girl decided that she needed to 'help' Clint open his birthday presents.

"That one," Clint decided, pointing at Natasha's present. "It's like Christmas! And my birthday!"

Natasha clapped her hands in delight. "That's _my_ present!" she exclaimed. "I got it just for you, all by myself!"

Clint knelt on the chair, holding out his arms as Steve passed him the present. With an almighty _riiiip_ , he tore the paper open, spilling out the tissue-paper-wrapped contents. A tiny peek of shiny purple fabric shone in the sunlight. "It's purple!" Clint yelled in delight. "Purple is my favorite!"

"I know it!" Natasha tried to jump up and down on her chair, but James caught her and helped her to kneel down. The last thing they needed was a birthday visit to the ER.

Clint peeled back the tissue paper. Wrapped inside was a little purple tie, with tiny black dots woven into the fabric. Beneath the tie lay a purple paisley bandana. "Look!" Clint crowed, holding up the tie and bandana. "I can be a cowboy!"

"Nat, do you want to tell Clint why you got him those?" James asked, putting his hand on Natasha's back.

"Yeah." Natasha pointed at the tie. "You wear that when it's a _special occasion_. That's what the lady said when I was trying on my dress. Boys wear ties."

"It's a special occasion now," Clint said immediately. He held the tie out to his father. "Daddy, do it."

Steve patiently turned Clint around and deftly knotted the tie around his neck, leaving plenty of space between the knot and Clint's neck. "Look at you," Steve said, sounding as if he was getting choked up. "So grown up."

"I'm six now," Clint reminded Steve. "When did you first wear a tie?"

A shadow crossed behind Steve's eyes. "I wore a tie when I was five," he said, pulling Clint towards him for a one-armed hug. "This is a very nice tie, though, isn't it?"

Clint stroked the tie. "It's the best!" He looked at Natasha, to make sure she had noticed his use of her phrase. "The _best_!"

"The best!" Natasha agreed, breaking out into giggles.

James stood. The kids hadn't seen it, but Clint's question to Steve had thrown the man off-balance, and James was pretty sure he knew why. Once, when they were kids, Steve had told James about his mother's funeral, and how he'd worn a tie and a too-big suit and how he'd been so scared because he knew there was no one in the world to look after him.

As Clint urged Steve to tie the purple bandana around his wrist, James went to the counter, got a glass of water, and carried it back over to the table. He put it down at some middle spot between Steve and Clint, then, before he over-thought things, squeezed Steve's shoulder on his way back to his chair.

As James sat down, Steve met his gaze over Clint and Natasha, who were giggling over Clint's new purple wardrobe. Steve nodded at James, something in his eyes calmer now, and James let out a breath.

"Next present!" Clint announced, pulling James out of his thoughts. "What's next?"

It took them about half an hour to open the rest of Clint's presents. Skye had given Clint a kite with a bird painted on it, and some sidewalk chalk. Abraham had sent along a scooter and a gift certificate for a helmet. James' present of books went over exceedingly well, mostly because James had taken the bookstore clerk's advice and had bought Clint the _Captain Underpants_ collection. Both Clint and Natasha giggled so hard at the books that Clint nearly fell off his chair.

Steve's adoptive sisters had sent cards to Clint wishing him a happy birthday. One of the cards contained a twenty dollar bill 'for candy', which Steve quickly confiscated.

Steve's next door neighbor, the woman with the puppy, had sent along a little box that contained a few wind-up toys and a whoopee cushion. Steve had to demonstrate the proper use of a whoopee cushion to the children, who laughed so hard that Natasha had tears in her eyes and Clint was snorting for breath as Steve blew up the cushion for the third time.

They took a short break for the children to recover. Steve sent the kids to the bathroom to wash their faces, while he and James cleared away the wrapping paper detritus. James, glancing over the remaining two presents, raised his eyebrows. "These are both from you," he observed.

"Yeah?" Steve didn't look up from where he was sorting the wrapping paper.

"Nothing from Sharon?"

Steve's clenched jaw was eloquent. "She'll bring something when she comes home, she always does," he said. "Look, don't bring her up unless Clint does, okay? I don't want him to get upset."

Privately, James thought that Clint was plenty capable of getting upset at his mother's absence without any reminder, but kept his mouth shut.

The children returned to the table in a loud stampede of bare feet. "Two more!" Clint yelled joyously. "Daddy, this is so many presents! So many!"

"It sure is," Steve said easily, hoisting Clint back onto his chair. "But the next present is special, do you know why?"

"Why?"

Steve helped Natasha back onto her chair, then placed a present between the children. "Because this is a present for both of you. You and Natasha."

"For me?" Natasha asked, her face lighting up. "Daddy, I get a birthday present too!"

James, who had seen the tag on the box and knew it was from Steve, said, "That's very nice of Steve. Can you say thank you?"

Natasha twisted her head to frown at him. "But I don't know what it is yet."

"Open the box and find out," Steve said. "Together."

The children fell upon the box, four little hands ripping the wrapping paper. They quickly uncovered a cardboard box, opened that, and dug out two eyeglass cases.

"This says, Natasha," said Clint, and handed it to Natasha.

"This is for you," Natasha said, and gave her handful to Clint. Together, they cracked open the lids, to reveal two pairs of child-size aviator sunglasses.

"Sunglasses!" Clint exclaimed. "These are _cool_!"

"These are special sunglasses," Steve said, picking up Clint's sunglasses while the boy removed his eyeglasses. "Clint's sunglasses are the same prescription as his other glasses, so he can wear them when we're outside and still see everything."

"What about mine?" Natasha asked, curiously unfolding her sunglasses and, with James' help to make sure she didn't poke herself in the eye, putting them on.

"Your sunglasses are just the right ones for you," Steve said. He settled the sunglasses on Clint's nose. "What do you think?"

Clint grinned up at his father. "These are cool! Do I look cool?"

"You look very cool," Steve said solemnly. "So does Natasha."

James' daughter peered around the room. "Do I look old?" she asked James.

"You look very old," he told her, pulling out his phone to take a picture. "Like you are already six years old."

He took a few photos of the children in their sunglasses, then showed the pictures to them. The general consensus was that they both looked very grown-up and adult, and it was possible that someone might actually mistake them for seven-year-olds, or even, daringly, seven-and-a-half.

Steve then helped Clint take his sunglasses off while James demonstrated to Natasha how to put her sunglasses on top of her head. With a promise that she could wear them 'for real' when they went outside next, James pulled Natasha onto his lap to watch Clint unwrap his last present, the large black case that Steve had brought with them.

In retrospect, James didn't know why it took him so long to figure out what the present was. It wasn't like Clint had a lot of interests outside of dinosaurs and swimming, and the shape of the case itself should have told him. But it wasn't until Clint opened the case's latches and lifted the lid, that James realized exactly what Steve had gotten Clint for the boy's sixth birthday.

A new bow.

Clint froze, staring down at the gleaming bow, nested in the black velvet of the case. The limbs of the bow were brushed charcoal, with purple accents shining in the light. On the case's top half were strapped a dozen arrows, in matching colors to the bow.

"Ooh," Clint said, gently touching the edge of the bow with gentle fingers. "Is this for me? My very own?"

"Yes," Steve said, lifting the bow out of the case. The charcoal-and-purple bow was nearly as tall as Clint. When Steve handed it to Clint, Clint took it in both hands, then pulled it close to his chest to give it a tight hug.

"I never wanted anything so much as this," Clint said, his eyes closed in contentment. "Never anything in my _whole life_."

"Don't forget to say thank you," James said, setting Natasha on her feet so she could inspect the bow close-up.

Clint opened his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, smiling at his father. Steve, who was smiling nearly as widely as Clint, knelt down to give Clint a hug around the bow.

Natasha patted the back of James' hand. "Daddy," she said seriously. "Clint got a new bow for his birthday."

"Yes, he did," James agreed, as Clint pushed his father away so he could continue with the inspection of his new weapon.

"And he got a new scooter, and a kite, and a fart balloon."

"Yup." James moved the bow case back from the table's edge, closing the lid on easy access to the arrows. "Are you thinking about what you want for your birthday?"

Natasha nodded.

"Well," James said, crouching down, "How about when you have an idea, you can write it down in your notebook? And then when we get close to your birthday, you can show me and tell me what you want?"

"That's a good idea," Natasha declared. "Because, if I told you now, I might change my mind when I grow up," she said earnestly.

James, who only had _Trip to Disneyland_ on his list for Natasha's next birthday, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Now, let's go see what present Clint wants to play with first."

Unsurprisingly, Clint wanted to take his new bow outside. Steve retrieved the makeshift target from where he'd hidden it behind the house and together they all went down onto the beach, away from anything Clint could damage with a wayward shot. Clint was so absorbed in his bow that he didn't even notice Natasha standing there, watching him. After a few minutes, Natasha joined James up the beach, her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"He doesn't want to play with me," Natasha said sadly.

James put his arm out, and Natasha collapsed against his side. "Clint just got something very special for his birthday," James said. "Give him a little time to play with it, okay?"

Natasha rubbed her nose on James' shoulder. "Okay," she said, still bummed.

"Hey." James patted Natasha's back. "How about we go back into the house to get your hat, then we can build a sandcastle, just you and me?"

Natasha pulled back to look at James, surprise on her face. "Dads can't build sandcastles," she said. "They're too old."

James stuck his tongue out at her. "Are not."

Natasha giggled. "Are too."

"Are not." James scooped Natasha up onto his shoulder and stood, Natasha kicking and giggling. "Come on, hat first."

In the house, James retrieved Natasha's hat, the sunscreen, and the beach toys, then, on his way out the door, picked up Clint's sunhat. Together, Natasha and James walked down to the beach, picking a nice spot in the damp sand a fair distance away from Clint and Steve.

"Start digging," James instructed. "I'll be right back." Natasha adjusted the strap of her sun hat before driving the toy spade into the sand. James hurried over to where Steve was supervising Clint's archery. "Here," he said, tossing the hat at Steve. "In case Clint needs it."

"Thanks, Bucky," Steve said, most of his attention on Clint. "That went pretty well, don't you think?"

"I think Clint nearly vibrated out of his skin in excitement," James agreed. He turned slightly so he could keep an eye on Natasha. "Good idea. And hey, I'll pay you back for the sunglasses."

Steve took his eyes off Clint and looked at James in surprise. "You don't have to," he said.

"Those sunglasses ain't cheap," James protested.

"No, it's not that," Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Tony's working on some damage-proof eyewear for a new industrial safety line. He thought if the kids can't wreck them, then they can start moving forward with wider testing."

James narrowed his eyes. His first reaction was to tell Tony Stark where he could shove his experimental safety glasses, but he also knew Steve, and Steve would never let anything near Clint or Natasha if there was any possibility of harm coming to them. "Thanks, then," he said.

Steve beamed at him. "Good choice of books," he said, turning his attention back to Clint, who had already sunk three arrows into the target. "And where did you find that tie?"

"In the store where I bought her fancy dress," James said. "She saw the rack of ties and wouldn't leave until we had picked out the best one for Clint."

"She's a great friend," Steve mused.

"She's a good girl," James agreed. "Now, I have to go dig in the sand before I get disowned."

Steve's parting slap on the back nearly knocked James off his feet, but he just shook his head and kept going. Natasha was sitting on her heels in the sand, glaring at James behind her sunglasses. "Daddy!" she scolded. "You _said_ we could build sandcastles _together_!"

"And we are," James agreed. He dropped to his knees in the sand. "Now, sweet pea, tell me what to do first."

* * *

The rest of the day was idyllic. After half an hour of archery practice, Steve made Clint stop so he could rest his muscles, and even that wasn't enough to send the boy into a tailspin. The children played in the sand, then they flew Skye's kite until it was time for a snack.

After the snack, Steve sat with the children on the couch, reading the beginning _of Captain Underpants_ with them while James cleaned up. Then it was time for another swim, and the afternoon was spent lounging pool-side. Well, not exactly lounging, but James did get ten uninterrupted minutes of sitting under the waterfall while Clint and Natasha had a serious discussion with Steve around the nature of birds and their similarities to dinosaurs.

Steve ducked away at five to pick up the cake from the delivery van at the front gate, leaving James to cajole the children down to the house with the promise of the upcoming hamburger dinner. After two rounds in the pool in one day, he got the children into a bubble bath to wash off the chlorine, entertaining them with stories of his time working on construction sites as a teenager. Then it was out of the tub and time to get dressed, while Steve was downstairs on the patio outside the house, starting up the grill for the evening's dinner.

Dinner was delicious, with Steve's homemade hamburgers cooked to perfection. Steve also roasted some of the heirloom tomatoes over the open flame, drizzled with a little olive oil, and after the first bite James was certain he'd never be able to eat a regular tomato ever again.

Clint demolished his hamburger, making an utter mess of his shirt, while Natasha gave up after her first bite and made James cut up her burger into bite-sized pieces for her to dip in the ketchup.

Things were going so well that James wasn't entirely surprised when, after Steve lit the candles on Clint's birthday cake and set it before the little boy, Clint burst into tears.

Steve picked Clint up, trying to shush him as the boy wailed on his shoulder. Natasha stared in alarm, while James, sensing this may take a while, snuffed out the candles before pulling Natasha onto his lap.

"Why's Clint sad?" Natasha demanded, clutching at James' shirt collar.

"He's not sad," James said, kissing the top of Natasha's head. "He's very excited and he has lots of feelings right now. Remember how when you have lots of feelings, your insides get all twirled up?"

"Oh yes," Natasha said, her expression clearing. "I feeled like that all the time, when I was a little baby. But Clint's a big boy."

"No matter how old you get," James told his daughter, "You are always going to have days where you have lots of feelings on the inside. I do."

"But _you_ don't cry."

"Not often," James agreed. Across the table, Clint was settling down, Steve talking quietly into his good ear. "But I cry sometimes when I'm happy."

"Like when?" Natasha demanded suspiciously.

"Like when I adopted you," James replied honestly. "When we went to sign your adoption papers, and I became your forever-dad, I cried because I was happy."

Natasha looked at James with very green eyes. "That was a good day," she said. "You're the best daddy. The _best_ ," she repeated for emphasis.

"And you are the best daughter," James said. "How about a big hug?"

Natasha threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. He returned the hug, looking over Natasha's head to where Steve was just sitting back down with Clint. Steve looked back at James, and smiled.

When Natasha let go of James' neck, they went over to the sink where James wet a cloth towel, then back to the table they went. Natasha held the towel out to Clint solemnly.

"After you have feelings," Natasha told him, "Sometimes you need to wipe your face."

Clint took the damp towel from Natasha, wiped his face with the cool cloth, then handed it to his father. "This is the best birthday I ever had," Clint told Natasha, the remnants of sniffles in his voice. "I saw the sun wake up, and went to the pool, and got a new bow, and now there's a cake with a bird on it!"

"All those things are fun," Natasha agreed, climbing back onto her chair. "Daddy, make the candles go."

Lighting the candles once more, everyone sang Clint 'Happy Birthday', then Clint blew the candles out with a minimum of spit on the icing. Everyone had a piece of cake, and Clint got the piece with the special fondant purple bird on top.

They ended the day with a fire in the house's large fireplace, as the breeze was picking up and James thought it too cold for the children to sit outside. The kids were nodding off by ten, and it was the work of only a few minutes to get the little ones upstairs, into their pajamas, and into bed. Clint was asleep before Steve pulled the sheet up over his chest, while Natasha hung on for three lines of a story before she was out.

As quietly as possible, James and Steve tiptoed downstairs. For a few minutes, they just sat in front of the fire, soaking up the silence. "You want to clean up?" Steve finally asked, sinking lower onto the couch.

James stared at the brightly crackling flames. "You mean now, or ever?"

Steve groaned. "How the hell do two children make such a mess?"

"Entropy," James said, who didn't really remember much of anything from his high school science classes. "Hey, is there a laundromat in town? I should head in and do a load tomorrow."

"We can use the machines up at the big house," Steve said.

James reached out with one foot to poke Steve in the thigh. "Look at you, living all high."

Steve caught James' ankle, giving it a shake before letting him go. "If I was living high, I'd ask Lucy to do the laundry for me."

"No, you wouldn't, because I would kick your ass," James told him. "Stark probably has high tech everything, right?"

"Yeah."

"Think the kids would want to try out the washing machine tomorrow?"

"Can't hurt." Steve yawned. "What else are we doing tomorrow?"

"It's Monday, so whatever we want, I guess." James pushed himself to his feet, his back aching. "Skye told me about the parks around here, we could take the kids on a hike. Or to the lighthouse."

"Maybe not tomorrow." Steve didn't move as James put another piece of driftwood on the fire. "Give Clint some time to play with his bow. He's getting better on the draw."

"Make sure he doesn't overdo it," James cautioned as he dropped back onto the couch. "Pull a muscle or something."

"Don't worry, I got the lecture from Clint's archery instructor," Steve said. He ran his hand over his face. "Today was a good one."

"It was." James turned his head so he could see Steve. The fire's glow illuminated the man's perfect face, the soft fabric of his t-shirt riding up on his stomach to show a line of skin above his waistband. James swallowed, but did not look away. "So, um, any word from Sharon?"

Steve shook his head. "Not even a text. Clint held up okay, but… yeah. It may hit him tomorrow."

James thought back to the one time he had met Sharon Carter, the desperate look on her face as she hugged her little boy good-bye. And the handgun concealed in the waistband of her trousers. He hoped that wherever Sharon Carter was, she was okay, and would be able to come home one day. Clint needed his mother in his life.

While James kept his thoughts to himself, Steve turned to look at James. He smiled at James, slow and soft, and the warmth in the man's face curled in James' stomach. "I'm glad you're here, Bucky," Steve said quietly. "Thanks for staying."

"You were right," James said, ignoring the thrill down his spine at Steve's words. "It's good, to be here. With the kids." God, he sounded like an idiot. "And that nap today, I needed that."

"Like I said, anything you need," Steve said, still smiling. "We've got a whole 'nother week here, it's going to be great."

In spite of the warmth of the fire and the calm after a long day, James felt a sliver of worry slide through his mind. He wanted to believe Steve, he really did, but he had been through too much in his life to ever really believe that things were going to stay good.

Still, Steve didn't need his negativity. James made himself smile. "Yeah," James said. "It's going to be great."

James really, really hoped that he hadn't just jinxed himself on that one.


	18. Summertime (Part III)

* * *

_Pat pat pat_.

James gave a grunt and tried to roll over.

 _Pat pat pat_.

Coming more fully awake, James blinked. The loft ceiling overhead was softly lit, telling James that the sun had indeed risen, despite his own exhaustion.

 _Pat pat pat_.

"Morning, Clint," James said with a sigh, turning his head.

"Hi." Clint shuffled closer to James, leaving his fingers on the back of James' hand where he had been delivering his attention-getting pats. "Can I go shoot my bow?"

James sat up slowly "What time is it?"

Clint, who was not wearing his glasses, gave a shrug. "It's not _too_ early," he said.

Yawning, James reached for his phone. It was barely after six. "Well," James said. "It's later than you got up yesterday."

" _Please_ can I go shoot my bow?" Clint begged, staring owlishly up at James. "Please?"

James yawned again. "Sure," he said, and had to dive to catch Clint before the boy started yelling in his excitement. "But first, you need to do five things."

"What things?" Clint demanded.

"Hold up your hand." As Clint did so, James reached out to touch the end of the boy's thumb. "First, you gotta go put on your glasses, and then your hearing aid." He tapped the boy's index finger. "Then, go to the bathroom." A tap on Clint's middle finger. "And," James gently pinched the tip of Clint's ring finger. "Put on some shorts."

Clint looked puzzled. "But what else do I do?" he asked, holding his pinkie finger up to the sky.

"After you're done all that, and _quietly_ , go have a glass of milk." James held his hand flat. "High five."

Clint slapped James' hand, then darted off into his bedroom. James stood up with another yawn and made his way over to Steve's bedroom door. The door was half-way shut, and from the doorway James could see Steve's sleeping form, a sheet tangled around his lower body.

James stood watching Steve sleep for a few minutes, only being roused from his stupor by the sound of Clint's bare feet pattering on the way to the bathroom. Carefully, James slipped into the room. He wondered if he should just retrieve the bow case from under the bed and not wake Steve, but no; if the situations had been reversed, and Natasha had asked Steve to take her outside, James would want to be woken up to know about it.

"Steve."

Steve didn't move.

"Steve." James touched Steve gently on the shoulder. "Stevie."

"Uuggh." Steve twitched, opened his eyes briefly, then blinked a few times before focusing on James. "What's it?"

"Everything's fine," James said soothingly, crouching so he wasn't looming over the sleeping man. "Clint woke me up, he wants to go out shooting."

Steve blinked a few more times. In the soft light trickling in from the covered window, all gentle from sleep, the man seemed unreal. "I can get up and go," Steve said after a moment, rubbing his eyes.

"No, I've got it," James said. "You sleep. We'll be just outside."

It was a good indication of exactly how tired Steve was that he just blinked up at James. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Come get me if Clint needs anything."

"We'll be fine," James reassured him. "I'll leave the door open in case Natasha wakes up."

Steve rolled onto his side, closing his eyes again. Fighting the urge to watch Steve sleep some more, James pulled the bow case out from under Steve's bed and moved as quietly as possible out of the room.

Clint was still in the bathroom, so James quickly changed into a clean pair of shorts (he really did have to do laundry; when these shorts got dirty all he'd have left was his old PT shorts from his Ranger days, not exactly the modern fashion) and a clean t-shirt. He left his prosthetic arm on the charging station. Having watched Steve helping Clint string the bow the day before, James was pretty sure he could accomplish the task short-handed.

Hefting the bow case, James poked his head into the children's bedroom. Natasha lay on her stomach, one hand clutching Bear's paw. She had kicked the sheets off the bed in the night, but it was already so warm that James let her be. Covering her up again would only cause her to wake hot and irritated.

James headed downstairs. He set the bow case by the front door and was making a double-strong cup of coffee when Clint hurried downstairs. He wore his glasses and hearing aid, the sandy shorts from the previous day, and an expectant expression on his face. "Let's go!" the boy exclaimed quietly. "Let's go shoot arrows!"

"Milk first." James made Clint sit at the table. He poured the boy a glass, and before he even had the jug back in the fridge, Clint had chugged half the milk in one go. When Clint came up for air, James said, "You going to be okay?"

Clint panted for breath. "Yeah," he said, and proceeded to chug the rest of the milk. He set the glass down and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, staring at James expectantly.

James knew when he was beat. Pouring the coffee into a thermos he'd found in the back of the cupboard, he spun on the lid and tucked the thermos under his left arm stump. "Come on, peanut, let's go."

Clint ran to the door, opened the deadbolt and tore out into the early morning. He ran all the way down to the high tide mark by the time James had made it to the place where they'd left the target the day before. Clint skipped back up the sand, taking a running jump to land beside James. "I'm ready!" Clint exclaimed. He punched the air. "Let's _go_!"

It wasn't quite as easy as that. First, they had to re-position the target so Clint wouldn't be staring directly into the rising sun. Then, they had to string the bow, an activity that would have frustrated James even if he'd had two hands.

Only then did James let Clint loose, providing verbal support around sips of coffee as the boy shot arrow after arrow into the target.

By contrast to the day before, Clint chattered non-stop as he set the bow down to gather up his arrows. James nodded and answered when Clint paused for breath, but the boy was quite content to talk on as he practiced.

James reflected on the boy's excitement. Was he more talkative than normal this morning because he was enjoying himself? Or was it because Natasha, a chatterbox herself, was not around to talk over him? James made a mental note to watch the children that day, to see if it was a case of Natasha not letting Clint talk when he wanted to, or if Clint was content with the dynamics between them. James suspected the latter, but it was always a good idea to check those assumptions.

Clint fired his last arrow, set the bow down, and ran over to the target. He had hit the round target with ten of his twelve arrows, and three arrows had penetrated the bulls-eye ring. His aim, while not as good as it had been at his lessons with his old familiar bow, was improving.

"I'm gonna shoot this one first!" Clint exclaimed as he ran back to James' side, brandishing a fist-full of arrows. "Because this was my best shot!"

"Good plan," James said. He waited as Clint set the arrows on top of the closed bow case, laying them out carefully. "After this round, we're going to take a break, okay?"

Clint adjusted an arrow. "No."

"No?" James raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"I'm gonna do this _all day_."

"No, you're not." James put his hand on the bow, preventing Clint from picking it up. The boy pouted at him. "Clint, can I talk to you, man to man?"

Clint hesitated. His obvious desire to keep up target practice warred with his need for grown-up talk. "Yeah, okay," Clint finally said, crouching down next to his bow. His fingers wrapped around the grip possessively.

"Have you ever heard of cross-training?"

"No."

"Well, it's something that we did when I was in high school, on the track team." James sat forward. "It's when you're working really hard on something, you also need to train other areas of your body, to give yourself time to rest and to be better balanced."

Clint stared up at him, wide-eyed and uncomprehending.

"So, like, if you do a lot of work on shooting arrows, you should also take some time to run around and climb things, and go swimming."

Clint sat back on his heels, rubbing his face with his hand. "I did all that yesterday," he reminded James, sticking his tongue out at the sky.

"Yeah, well, you did." James abandoned his rational reasoning. "After this round, we're going to walk down to the water for a little bit, okay?"

"Okay," Clint said, although his expression indicated that he was not a happy camper. Glowering slightly, he picked up the bow and his first arrow, and went back to work.

He spoke less, focusing more on his aim, and shortly he had fired his last arrow. Dragging his feet, he helped James gather up the arrows, set them and the bow on top of the case, and let James take his hand as they walked down to the water.

His spirits revived as James took him over to the rocks and they looked in crevices and in little pools. Clint poked at the tiny aquatic animals, exclaiming loudly over a starfish curled up on the rocks and pointing up at the birds flying overhead.

All told, they meandered down by the water for nearly half an hour when Clint's stomach started to rumble loudly. At James' question, the boy declared loudly that he was not hungry, that he wanted to go practice again.

"All right," James said as he held up his hand for a high-five. "Then we'll go get some breakfast, okay?"

Walking back up the rise to the target, James looked up when the door of the house opened and Steve came out, carrying Natasha, still in her pajamas. Clint waved vigorously at his father as he ran over to his bow. James lifted his hand in a greeting, trying not to think about how good Steve looked, hair rumpled, in a faded t-shirt stretched tight over his upper body. The man was carrying Natasha on one arm, his other arm patting her back, and it took James a moment to realize that Natasha was clinging to Steve in a way she only did when she was upset.

"Morning," James called as Steve neared. "Clint is getting really good."

"Uh huh!" Clint agreed. He expertly nocked an arrow. "Daddy, look at me. Are you looking?"

"I'm looking," Steve said, smiling at Clint. Clint turned, sighted, and let loose his arrow. It landed in the bottom left of the target.

"I'm gonna do that again," Clint said, bending to pick up another arrow.

Steve stopped close by James' side. "Hey," he said quietly. Natasha was curled up on Steve's arm, her face tucked in against his neck. "Natasha's having a tough morning. She woke up crying."

James reached out his hand to stroke Natasha's hair. "Nat, honey, you want to come to me?"

A pause, during which Clint successfully shot off another arrow, and Natasha slowly sat up on Steve's arm. Her eyes red, she reached for James without a word.

"Oh dear," James said, gathering Natasha up out of Steve's hold with only a small amount of effort. His daughter wrapped her arms around his neck in a choking embrace. "Let's you and me go in the house, okay, sweet pea?" He felt Natasha nod.

"We'll be out here," Steve said, patting Natasha's back.

"We'll get breakfast started," James said, rocking Natasha gently like he had when she was a baby. "Come in when Clint's hungry." After a smile at Steve, and one last look at Clint intent on the target, James walked back to the house, humming in Natasha's ear. She snuffled and wiggled on his arm, holding on to him tight. "How does that sound?" he asked. "We can make a yummy breakfast for everyone, and then we'll eat it up, all right?"

"No," Natasha wailed against his shoulder.

"No?" James walked through the house door, then headed to the couches by the fireplace. He sat, letting Natasha's weight shift from his arm to his lap. "You aren't hungry?"

After a moment, Natasha let go of James' neck and looked up at him. Fresh tears were in her eyes. Wiping her nose on her pajama sleeve, she shrugged.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Natasha flopped against James' chest, balling her hand up in his shirt. She didn't speak.

James kissed the top of her head. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"I don't remember," she said, turning her cheek into his chest.

"What happened when you woke up? Why were you sad?" James pressed.

Natasha gave a huge sniff. "Dr. Snapples misses me," she said, looking up at James. "So does Tock."

"I see." Natasha's stuffed animals, aside from Bear, had been left at home, with strict instructions from Natasha for Skye to keep them company while she was house-sitting. "What about Tick?"

"Tick sleeps all the time," Natasha said. "But the others miss me."

"Does that make you sad?" James asked, starting to get an inkling of the problem.

 Natasha rubbed her eyes. "I don't know."

"This is the first time we've been away from home overnight," James said, nudging Natasha until she was sitting on his left leg, curled up against his shoulder. "That's a really big deal."

"I wasn't scared," Natasha was quick to point out. "Not once!"

"I know." James held out his hand to let Natasha take hold of his fingers. "But everyone gets homesick sometimes. Even me."

"What's homesick?" Natasha asked, staring up at him with brilliant green eyes.

"That's when you miss your home, and your bed, and knowing where everything is, and you get sad." James squeezed Natasha's hand. "When I joined the Army, I missed my own bed a lot. And all the laundry smelled weird because they used a different soap."

"I miss my room," Natasha confessed. "And Dr. Snapples. And Skye."

"We'll be going home in a week," James reminded her. "And Skye's taking extra-good care of our house while we're gone."

Natasha let out a sigh. "I know _that_ ," she said, sounding more like her usual self. "But what if Dr. Snapples is sad because she thinks I'll _never_ come home?"

"I have an idea." James reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. "How about we send Skye a message? To tell her that Dr. Snapples needs an extra hug?"

"Koalas don't like hugs," Natasha said, shaking her head at the obtuseness of adults. "They want to sleep. And to watch Mulan."

"All right," James said. He unlocked his phone. "Now, what should we tell Skye?"

Putting the message together took the better part of ten minutes, mostly because Natasha went off on a tangent midway through, concerning plans for her sixth birthday that involved a cake with three layers and _dinosaurs, Daddy, candy dinosaurs you can eat_. Father and daughter eventually agreed upon the message, which asked Skye to tell all of Natasha's stuffed animals that the little girl was having a marvelous time at a swimming pool and that they should keep all their hugs for her when she came back home.

James tacked on that the kids missed Skye and that he hoped her week would go well. Hitting send, James tucked the phone away to carry Natasha upstairs to wash her face and to get started on the day.

Clint and Steve came in just as James was adding a bowlful of beaten eggs to the frying pan. Natasha jumped down from the chair at James' side to run over to Clint. "Good morning," Natasha said solemnly. "You are six years old and one day."

Clint nodded. "I think I will get a _job_."

"What kind of job?" Natasha asked, pulling on her earlobe. "You have a scooter, you can go to a job _far away_."

"I will be a dinosaur man," Clint declared, going over to the table. Natasha followed. "I will have a dinosaur and take him to the circus and we will play with the lions."

"I will play in the circus and I will walk on the elephants," Natasha said. "We will be in the circus together."

James shook his head. "You two can join the circus after you set the table. Come on, we'll be eating in a few minutes."

"That smells really good," Steve said, hovering over the frying pan. "What is it?"

"Leftovers and scrambled eggs," James said. Without thinking, he slapped at Steve's hand before the man could reach in to grab a slice of chopped-up ham. "Stop it, you'll get worms."

"Will not," Steve said, ducking away from James, taking a sliver of shredded cheese with him. "You're such a good cook."

James turned to the frying pan, not sure what to say. He personally thought he was all right in the kitchen; he'd been cooking for Natasha for years, and Clint ate James' cooking without complaint. Still, no adult had ever complimented James' cooking before.

"How's Natasha doing?" Steve asked, his voice quiet. "She was pretty upset when she woke up."

"She's fine," James said. Talking about Natasha was the safest option. "A little homesick. We talked it out."

"Good." Steve reached for another sliver of cheese. "It's always hard when the kids are upset."

"Yeah." James tapped the spatula on the side of the frying pan. "Hey, thanks for looking out for her this morning. I really appreciate it."

Steve smiled at James, big and bright and cheerful. "Anytime," he said. "Either of you two ever need anything, I'm there for you."

He was staring at James with such wide, unblinking sincerity that James' stomach twisted. How was James supposed to be able to handle a life alone when Steve kept making such sweeping pronouncements like this? James made himself look down at the frying pan. "Thanks," he said, mouth dry. "Just… You too. You and Clint, I mean."

Steve's hand settled on James' shoulder, heavy and warm. "Good," Steve said, far too close to James' ear, then he pulled away, already turning to the table to see what the children were up to.

James was left to cook in peace, if one could call weak knees and butterflies in the stomach _peace_.

Breakfast, which consisted of the egg scramble, toast, leftover salad for Steve, and enough coffee to keep a squadron going, went perfectly. Clint and Natasha finished before the adults, so Clint went to retrieve the first Captain Underpants book. The children giggled their way through Steve's reading, while James watched them all fondly as he ate his toast.

After breakfast, Steve sent the children upstairs to keep themselves occupied while he and James did the dishes. The house settled into a soft hum, with the children's voices faintly audible, while James washed the dishes for Steve to dry. The cozy contended feeling made the lingering tension in James' shoulders loosen. Nothing to worry about here, no need to keep his guard up that someone might see something they shouldn't, no need to pretend he was someone he wasn't. It was just Steve, and the kids, and James.

"What are we going to do today?" Steve asked after a while, putting the coffee mugs back into the cupboard. "Besides the pool."

"Laundry," James said. "I should do a run into town; the kids are going through the milk faster than I thought."

"Sounds good." Steve came back over to James' side. His elbow brushed against James' arm, sending a quiet thrill down James' spine. "I might need to go for a run later."

"Okay." James set a soapy plate in the second sink basin. "Got ants in your pants?"

Steve smiled. "No, I need to stretch my legs. Most days at work, I can get a workout in at lunch time."

"Sure, no problem." James waited until Steve was drying another coffee cup before saying, "It's also a lot to be around the kids all day."

Steve wiped a droplet of water off the cup's handle. "They never really stop, do they?"

"Not unless they're asleep, and not even then," James agreed. "At home they're less… I dunno, chaotic."

"There's all kinds of new stuff here for them to get into." Steve tossed his dishtowel over his shoulder as he edged in next to James to rinse the soapy dishes in the sink. "I'm glad they have each other, though. It's good they're friends."

"Sure is," James said fervently. He could just imagine what Natasha might get herself into if he'd taken her to the beach, just the two of them. Then, if he hadn't met Steve Rogers in that grocery store parking lot, he would never have been spending a week in the Hamptons in the first place. "So, you want to stay here for your run while I take the kids into town?"

"Sounds good." Steve set the last of the dishes into the drying rack. "I'll take care of the laundry too."

"What would I do without you?" James said, partly as a joke. But the moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized what he had said, and all of his hard-won relaxation deserted him. What if Steve got the wrong idea? What if he thought James was trying to hit on him? James had known some straight guys when he was in the Army, who had been fine hanging around with gay guys right up until they thought the gay man was hitting on them, then they just turned on a pin and flipped out.

Steve was already turning around. James tensed, wondering if this was where Steve freaked out on him, told him to fuck off, to get away from him and his son. But all Steve did was to gently slap James on the back, grinning as he said, "Hope I never have to find out, huh?"

Then Steve was heading upstairs, calling out to the children that he was going to go to the pool and _did they know any kids who wanted to go swimming today_? while James clung to the countertop, trying to breathe his way through the force of memory.

Steve was not like the guys James knew in the Army. Steve didn't care that James was gay. He still gave James the occasional pat on the back, and even rarer hugs, but he never pulled away from James in disgust or revulsion.

Steve wasn't like any other man James had ever met, and some days James just didn't _understand_ him.

"Daddy."

James started. Natasha was standing at his side, holding out her bathing suit in both hands. "Hey, Nat," James said as he crouched down to her level. "You all ready to go swimming?"

"No." She showed him the strap of her suit. A thread had come loose. "It's broken."

James inspected the strap. The thread seemed more decorative than functional. "That's easy to fix," he said. "Do you want me to show you how you can fix that yourself?"

Natasha beamed at him. "Yeah!"

"All right." James draped the bathing suit over Natasha's arm, then tossed the girl up over his shoulder. "Scissors, to the rescue!"

Natasha squealed all the way up the stairs.

* * *

The morning was spent poolside. Clint braved the deep end of the big pool, drawing Natasha over to dangle her feet in the water, then, daringly, to actually go _into the water_ , holding onto the side the whole time, and James had to be right there beside her in case the invisible octopus that lives in the drain came out to get her.

James, long used to Natasha's imagination, went with it.

The children only allowed themselves to be hauled out of the pool when they were starving. Lunch was chicken salad, in sandwich form for the children, and on lettuce for the adults. Then after a quick shower and change of clothes (and Clint and James donning hearing aid and prosthetic arm, respectively), James packed the children into the jeep and off they went into town, Steve waving at them as they drove away.

James' first stop on arriving in town was, admittedly, a bit of psychological blackmail. He took the children down the beach to an ice cream stand, where everyone got a cone of their choosing. Clint and Natasha, stunned by this unexpected good fortune, sat on a bench to eat their ice cream, giving James a full minute of uninterrupted relaxation.

As soon as the ice cream was gone and sticky hands and mouths washed with water from a nearby water fountain, they headed off to the library, a large stone building three blocks from the beach.

The library was air-conditioned and nearly empty. The children clutched at James' hands as he led them toward the children's area, with its small chairs and colourful posters on the walls. "Now," James said, crouching down to talk to the children in his inside-voice. "What do you want to do?"

Natasha put her hand up in the air. "I want to read a book, all by _myself_ ," she said.

Clint rubbed his nose. "I want to go home and shoot my bow."

"Right." James looked around. "Natasha, how about you go look at those books over there?" he said, pointing at a display of picture books. "Clint, let's go see if we can find a book about archery."

Natasha flung herself at the display, pulling down a sparkly pink book with kittens on the front. Clint dragged his heels as James pulled him over to the librarian's desk, but was soon cheered when the woman found a large picture book of medieval weaponry, including a section on archery around the world.

Thanking the librarian, James guided Clint over to where Natasha was sitting, set the boy up on a chair of his own, and sat on the floor between them. He meant to check his work email, but instead he just watched the children read. Natasha was speaking to herself as she sounded out the words on the page, while Clint poured over his picture book with wide eyes and an open mouth.

It was a shame Steve was missing this, James thought, and unobtrusively took a few pictures of Natasha and Clint for the man to see later.

Finally, James leaned against the wall, the slight strain in his back easing. He could get used to this: hanging out with the kids, knowing they'd all see Steve again in a few hours. He wondered what Steve was doing at that very minute. Maybe he was doing laundry back at the big house. Or maybe he'd finished that and was out for his run around the estate. James had a mental picture of Steve in his running gear; a tight t-shirt and running shorts to show off his long, muscular legs. He'd probably run until he was hot and sweaty, his skin flushed with exertion, then he'd go up to the guest house for a shower, stepping out of his running clothes, walking naked across the large bathroom—

"What's this word?" Natasha demanded, shoving her book in front of James' nose.

James moved the book back from his face. "Pedestrian," he said. "Do you know what that means?"

Natasha pursed her lips. "It means, you walk on the street," she said. "Mrs. Singh told us that."

James shook his head. He could fantasize about Steve later, preferably when they were all back home in Brooklyn and James wouldn't see the man every waking minute. "How about you read to me for a little bit, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said. She pulled her chair closer to James. "Listen to me, Daddy, I can read real good."

Sparing a glance at Clint, who was still absorbed in his book, James bent his head to listen to his daughter's halting recitation of her story.

* * *

Their library stay lasted a little over two hours, in which Natasha read three books herself, then James read the beginning of _Matilda_ to the children. Clint held onto his archery book throughout, and when it was time to leave he refused to put it down. James had to promise that they would find the same book in the Brooklyn library, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, and even then Clint made James take several photographs of a few pages to tide Clint over.

Out on the street, James was about to herd the children back to the jeep, to do the milk run before driving back to the estate, when his phone pinged with a new text. _Hey new idea Lucy says we gotta try the Italian place in town for dinner_.

_when_

_How about tonight? I can meet you in town._

_how i hve car_

_I'll catch a ride from the gardener, he's leaving in half an hour. Meet you where?_

James looked around, spotting a small playground a block away. "Hey kids, do you want to go try out those swings?" he asked, pointing.

"Okay," Natasha said, reaching out to take Clint's hand. "We walk together."

"Yeah!" Clint said, grinning. He swung Natasha's hand in his. "Best friends hold hands. Like that!" he pointed down the street, where a teenage couple were sauntering down the sidewalk, hand in hand.

James opened his mouth to correct Clint, changed his mind, and said, "Holding hands is what friends do, all right."

They all set off, James texting Steve about the park. It was a nice sunny day, a little humid, but the kids didn't seem to mind as they ran over to the swings.

The benches around the park were crowded, so James sat on a section of low wall. Clint and Natasha seemed okay, so James opened his email and set to work. Maria was handling most of the work that week, but with all the projects Winterhill Security had on the go, James didn't want to let things go too long without his attention.

He got through a few emails, and had scheduled a call with Maria for Tuesday to deal with a few things that concerned him about one of their projects in Queens, when he heard Natasha's voice lift sharp above the playground hubbub. Looking up, he saw that Clint and Natasha were standing by their swing, each clutching the chain, as a few older boys, probably seven or eight years old, loomed menacingly. Natasha was glaring up at the biggest boy, snapping back at him. Clint was gripping the chain tight, not speaking.

James was on his feet before he had time to fully process the scene. He'd read on all the parenting blogs about the value in letting children sort out their own problems on the playground, but they were in a strange city and he wasn't ever going to make his children go up against pushy older kids on their own.

"Hey, everyone," James said, pocketing his phone as he approached the group. "Nat, Clint, you want to swing some more?"

Natasha turned to her father, her face red with frustration. "Daddy, he said that girls aren't _allowed_ to swing!" she exclaimed. "That's dumb!"

James crouched down between Clint and Natasha. "Girls can go on swings just like boys," he said easily. "Girls and boys both can do anything they like."

The group of boys looked a mixture of abashed and mutinous. James, who had fairly strict principles against parenting other people's children, patted Natasha on the back.

"How about I push you and Clint on this swing?" he said. "It's a busy playground, we can take turns on this one."

"Okay," Clint said, before Natasha could protest. "Natasha, you can go first."

James hauled his daughter up and onto the swing before she could find something to argue about, leaving the other boys to clamber onto the empty swing. He stepped back to give Natasha a gentle push, and nearly tripped over Clint. The little boy had put James between him and the other boys, clutching his pant leg tight.

Wishing Steve were there, James gave Clint a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then returned to pushing Natasha. After a few minutes, the children switched places, and Natasha took the opportunity to attempt to shimmy up the swings' support poles.

When James called time to switch again, Clint got off the swing and said in a quiet voice, "I don't want to swing any more."

"What do you want to do?" James asked.

"I want to go climb."

"All right." James looked at Natasha. "Nat, do you want to swing, or go climb with Clint?"

"Climb," Natasha said immediately. "Clint can climb _so_ high. I can climb high too!"

Off they went to the playground apparatus, leaving the swing behind to be pounced on by the boys. James wondered if Clint or Natasha would comment on this, but Clint had his jaw set, and Natasha was intent on Clint.

At the playground apparatus, instead of taking hold of the hand grips, Clint took hold of the outside joints and began to scale the thing like a monkey. Natasha giggled and followed her friend, taking the normal route.

Hoping the crisis had been averted, even if temporarily, James stood around to spot Clint on his mad climbing routine. Steve showed up a while later, joining James on the playground with, "Hey, how's it going?"

James pointed at Clint, who had perched on the highest point on the playground apparatus. "I don't think he's ever coming down."

"Is he stuck? He doesn't usually get stuck."

"Nah, he's brooding." James glanced at Steve, who looked dumbfounded. "What? He's six now, lots of grown-up worries."

Steve elbowed James in the side. "I have a way to get him down." He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey, Clint, want to go to the candy store?"

Clint looked down as an excited scream sounded from the other side of the playground apparatus. Natasha came running, her arms outstretched as she barrelled into James' legs. "Candy!" she crowed, beaming up at Steve.

Overhead, Clint had begun his descent. He jumped down the last four feet to the ground, wiped his hands on his shorts, and said, "Are we really going to get candy?"

"Yup," Steve said with a grin. "Remember, your aunt sent you candy money for your birthday."

"Okay," Clint said. "But it can't be _yucky_ candy."

"We will make sure that all the candy passes the yum test," Steve said solemnly. "I double promise."

"Okay," Clint said again. He adjusted his glasses, rubbed his nose, sneezed, and started walking toward the sidewalk. Natasha hopped after him, her red hair bouncing in the sunlight.

Steve touched James' right wrist. "Come on," he said, his smile as bright as any star in the sky. "You don't want to miss seeing those two set loose in a candy store, do you?"

With his heart in his mouth, James shook his head. "Last one there has to pay," he said, then bolted after the children while Steve was still figuring things out.

James caught up with the children at the corner, Steve a few paces behind him. Natasha was still bouncing all over the place, but Clint was dragging his heels. Steve put his hand on Clint's shoulder and guided him over to a bus stop bench. "What's up, buddy?" Steve asked as Clint climbed onto the bench, Natasha at his side. James hung back, letting Steve handle this.

Clint shrugged, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. Natasha leaned forward and said, "Those playground boys were _mean_ to us. They said that girls weren't _allowed_."

"That doesn't sound nice at all," Steve said gravely.

"I was going to kick them," Natasha went on. "I was going to kick them in the _bum_."

James could not let this pass. "Natasha, we don't kick people," he said sternly. "Even people who are mean to us."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at her father, but subsided.

Clint rubbed his nose. "Daddy," he said in a tentative voice. "Can boys and girls be friends when they are old?"

"Yes," Steve said. "Boys and girls can be friends when they are five, and when they are six, and then even when they are thirty-five."

Clint eyed his father suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yup." Steve smoothed the hair back off Clint's forehead. "I'm friends with Aunt Pepper, remember? And Bucky's best friend is Maria."

"I thought _you_ were his best friend," Clint said.

"Maria is my other best friend," James jumped in. Steve wasn't wrong; until he had come back into James' life, Maria had been the best friend James had had in years. "Clint, you can be friends with anyone you want to be. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't be."

"Yeah!" Natasha exclaimed. She patted the back of Clint's hand. "We can be friends when we are old! When I am a grown up and I live in Disneyland, you can come live with me and be my friend!"

Clint turned to her, a smile starting on his face. "Can I bring my bow?" he asked, hopping off the bench.

"Yeah," Natasha said, following suit. "You can bring your bow and show everyone that you're better than _anyone_ at arrows. Even better than Merida!"

"Who's that?" Clint asked.

"She has red hair and she shoots arrows!" Natasha explained. "We can watch the movie. Daddy, can we watch the movie now?"

"We can watch _Brave_ later, sweet pea," James said. "Let's ask Steve what he wants to do."

"Well," Steve said, standing up. "First off, we have to go to the candy store so Clint can spend his birthday money."

"Yes," Clint agreed. He took Natasha's hand. "We do that."

"And then, how about some bowling?" Steve said. "It's only three, we have some time before dinner."

James looked at Steve, wondering what on earth was in his mind. "You come to the beach and you want to go bowling?"

Steve shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. "If you don't want to get beat, all you gotta do is sit this one out," he said.

"Oh, I won't get beat," James countered. "I was thinking about you, losing to a one-armed man and all that."

Steve slapped James on the back. "It's on," he said, stepping back before James could return the blow. "Come on, kids, candy time!"

Shaking his head, James followed the children and Steve down the sidewalk to the candy store. The turns this day was taking were unexpected, but so far, everything was working out great.

* * *

The visit to the candy store elevated Clint's spirits, and bowling, a new experience for both children, was a sufficient challenge to keep them going until dinner time. The Italian restaurant was a family-style place, with a view out onto the water. Clint ordered his favorite, spaghetti and meatballs, while Natasha asked for 'white cheese' sauce, which after some questioning James translated as alfredo sauce. Steve, perhaps bolstered by his afternoon run, ordered the chicken parmigiana and wine.

James, who was feeling the caloric excesses of the previous few days, got a salad with grilled chicken. He really needed to get some more exercise, he decided when the dishes came out. Splashing around in the pool wasn't enough to keep him fit.

After dinner, they all went for a walk along the boardwalk. The children were beginning to droop, as it had been a long and exciting day, but James made them complete the circuit before heading to the jeep. By the time he had driven to the grocery store, the children were asleep in their booster seats.

Steve waited in the car with the children while James ran into the store for milk. While he was there, he grabbed some fruit for the next morning's breakfast, then hurried to pay and get back outside. The children were still out, and even Steve was beginning to fade a bit.

"Want to head back right away?" James asked as he turned on the engine. "Or maybe go for a bit of a drive?"

Steve turned his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Anywhere you want to go," he said.

"Drive it is." James maneuvered the jeep out onto the road. "I always wanted to do this, you know. Just drive around, no stop lights, no traffic. Ain't like this in the city."

"It's a bit like this in New Jersey," Steve said, still watching James. "Out by Abraham's house. The roads are quiet. I learned how to drive there."

"Lucky." James signaled to change lanes. "I was already driving the vans out to job sites when I was sixteen. You try learning to drive in Brooklyn traffic."

"Man, sixteen was so long ago," Steve said. "Seventeen years ago."

"A lot of living happens in seventeen years," James agreed. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, where he could just make out the tops of the sleeping children's heads. "Back then, I never thought I'd ever have kids."

The moment the words left his mouth, James wished he had kept quiet. What on earth had possessed him to say such things to Steve? He'd been through a lot of shit when he was a kid, but that didn't mean he had to unload on someone else. He'd spent nearly his entire life handling his own shit, keeping his feelings to himself. That's what men did in the world James came from; they didn't have feelings, or weaknesses, or emotions. They just internalized everything and died at forty from stress and heart disease.

"You're a great dad," Steve said quietly. "The way you are with Natasha, and with Clint…" Steve's voice trailed off. "You remind me of Abraham, a little bit. You let the kids be kids."

James' hand tightened on the steering wheel. He knew how important Abraham was to Steve, and for a moment he had no idea what to say. "I just let the kids alone," he said at last. "They know what they want to do, they don't need me bothering them and getting in their way."

"That's not what I mean," Steve said. "You let them grow at their own pace. You don't make a big deal out of things if they don't get something, or if they're off on some imaginary tangent, or anything like that."

James took his eyes off the road for long enough to give Steve a good look. "Neither do you," he pointed out. "What's up with you tonight?"

Steve let out a long sigh. "I don't know." He slouched down. "When Clint was born, I never thought that six years later I'd be raising him on my own. I always thought if we broke up, that Sharon would have taken Clint with her."

"Yeah, well, it didn't happen like that," James said sharply. He accelerated out onto the freeway, heading east. There was little traffic headed in this direction at this time of night. "You're doing great and Clint's doing great and you know it."

"I know." Steve sat up. "I just…" Another sigh. "I'm just really glad you're here with us this week, Bucky. That's all."

James, quickly calculating the line of the road and the speed of the vehicle, put his metal left hand on the steering wheel. As the metal fingers closed around the wheel, he lifted his right hand and reached over to take hold of Steve's hand. The angle was awkward, but Steve didn't pull away. "This week, with you and me and the kids, this is how it's supposed to be," James said as he squeezed Steve's fingers. "Sometimes, you gotta stop questioning what you got, all right?"

"Yeah," Steve said faintly. He turned his hand in James' grasp, and returned James' tentative squeeze. "Yeah, you're right, I know."

"Good." Seeing a curve in the road ahead, James withdrew his hand from Steve's to take hold of the steering wheel. "I know I said I'd be up for a drive, but if we head back to the house now we can get the kids in bed before sunset. You up for a bonfire, just us old guys?"

"Sounds great," Steve enthused. "You think the kids will wake up and want to join us?"

"I'm never sure with these little monsters," James said. He smiled at Steve. "Let's find out."

The children did indeed wake up when they arrived back at the beach house, and were vocal about going out to watch the sunset and enjoy a bonfire, but they were sufficiently sleepy that the adults got them into their pajamas first and made them brush their teeth before heading out to the beach blankets. The little fire caught easily, and James and Steve watched the sunset in companionable silence. Natasha dozed off soon after lying down, her head cushioned on Bear's tummy, but Clint leaned against Steve's side and blinked sleepily at the fire, until he eventually closed his eyes and let out a tiny whuffling snore.

"We should go for a walk in the forest preserve tomorrow," James said as the sky overhead began to fade towards indigo and black. "Skye said the kids should love it."

"I'm in," Steve said. He stretched his long legs out toward the fire. "It'll be good to go for a walk."

"This ain't no easy walk, city boy," James teased, poking Steve's thigh with his toes. "There are rocks and trees and stuff."

"You grew up in the city too," Steve pointed out, catching James' foot. "You live in Brooklyn Heights, you're never more than ten feet away from a coffee shop."

"They didn't have Starbucks in Afghanistan, Steve," James chided. He gently pulled his foot out of Steve's grasp. "You learn to rough it. You think you can make it in the backwoods tomorrow?"

"In the backwoods of Long Island?" Steve rolled his eyes. "Yes, I think I can manage to survive long enough to go for a hike. If not, you can always drag me out back to the road."

"Careful, I bet the kids would love that," James said with a laugh. "You survive this, maybe we can take the kids up on a hike in the Catskills or something."

Steve ran his hand through his hair. "That's a plan I can get behind," he said. "We can do that on a weekend later in August, when we're back in the city. If you can get the time?"

James nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from saying _yes_ right away. Everything was going so well with Steve, that he didn't want to mess anything up by seeming too eager. "I'll check with Maria," James said after an appropriate pause. "Make sure that she's okay with me being away for a day or two, I know she's planning a few things in the fall."

"Sure," Steve said, smiling in the fire's flickering light. "That would be great."

At this moment, Natasha woke with a start. Sitting up, she asked blearily, "When's the fireworks start?"

"No fireworks tonight, sweet pea," James said. "But it's time that little peanuts went to bed."

"I thought we staying up for fireworks," Natasha complained, but she let James pick her up. Behind them, Steve was lifting a still-sleeping Clint.

"Nope," James said again. "Come on, bed time and then tomorrow we can have lots more fun, all right?"

Natasha yawned a huge yawn. "Can we have pancakes?" she asked, gripping James' neck tight as he carried her into the house.

"Pancakes can be arranged," James said. He kissed Natasha's hair. "I love you, Natasha."

"I love you, Daddy, too," Natasha mumbled. "But I love cheese more."

"Second only to cheese," James said in mock awe. "Just what I always wanted."

Behind him, James could hear Steve snort.

* * *

An hour later, with the children asleep, the fire outside safely doused, and the adults in their respective and very separate beds, James lay on his side, his left arm stump tucked under his pillow. Everything was going so _well_. The kids were happy, the weather was perfect, and Steve was having a blast, even if he was being a lot more touchy-feely than usual.

James couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much physical contact with another adult. For so many years, James had had to police his every move, to keep from accidentally touching anyone. In the Army, in the construction business, in the security business, none of these were places where a man could be free with his hands and not expect to get the crap kicked out of him.

That was James' life, and he'd grown used to it.

Still. He wasn't _dead_. If Steve wanted to be handsy, James was perfectly in favor of that. He knew that it was completely platonic on Steve's part, and James would never do anything to make Steve uncomfortable.

But late at night, alone, James could close his eyes and imagine what it might be like if Steve _wasn't_ straight, if he was interested in James as more than a friend. James knew it was just a fantasy, and an impossible one at that, but James had spent a very long time with only fantasies to keep from feeling so very alone.

Adding one more to the list wouldn't hurt anyone.


	19. On Green Dolphin Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unreliable narrator: someone who has a limited point of view and ascribed motivations to others based on his (or her) own experience. Can be painfully, hilariously mistaken.
> 
> Chapter soundtrack: [On Green Dolphin Street (Miles Davis)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrVnm66joQk)
> 
> This chapter follows the [outtake chapter posted here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2585939/chapters/9799095).

* * *

Stepping out of the jeep, James breathed deeply of the pine-and-sea-scented air. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this, being out of the city in the woods. Of course, for his entire adult life, being in the woods had meant the Rangers and a mission, and back then James had been heavily armed. Now, all he had was a knife and a length of twine, but he'd made do with less.

He took another breath, then turned back to the car. "Come on, kids, let's go!"

Natasha unbuckled her seatbelt. "Daddy," she said, "I have to pee." Beside her, Clint was sulking. The boy was still furious at Steve for not allowing him to bring his new bow on the expedition.

"All right, pee break first," James said, holding out his hand. "Back in a few minutes."

Steve, who was in the process of opening the Jeep's back hatch, looked up. "We'll be here," he said.

"Good luck," James said in an undertone, before leading Natasha up the hill to the park ranger station by the trailhead.

Natasha went about her business in the ladies' while James ducked into the men's room to grab a handful of toilet paper for the trail. Natasha emerged from the bathroom with dripping hands, saying, "I washed my hands but there's no towels," as she wiped her hands on James' cargo shorts. Resigned, James just patted his daughter on the head and led her back to the jeep.

By this time, Steve had coaxed Clint out of the vehicle, but Clint's pout had descended into a full-scale disaster. The boy was sniffling and rubbing tears out of his eyes.

"Oh dear," James said.

Natasha patted the back of James' hand. "Daddy, why is Clint sad?"

"I don't know." James took Natasha's hand in his. "Let's go find out, okay?"

As they neared the Rogers boys, Clint took a hiccupping breath and burst out, "I wanna go practice with my bow!"

"Clint, we talked about this at breakfast," Steve said. "We're going to go for a walk in the woods this morning, and this afternoon, after lunch, we can practice with your bow."

"But…" Clint took a sniffling breath. "I wanna do it _now_! I don't wanna do a stupid walk!"

Natasha detached herself from James' side to join her friend. "You can't use your bow in the woods," she said matter-of-factly. "There's a sign. No bows allowed 'til November."

Clint rubbed his eyes again. "There's not?" he asked, this unexpected revelation distracting him.

"No. I will show you." And Natasha took Clint by the hand and led him in the direction of the rangers' hut.

"Go," James said to Steve. "I'll get our kit ready."

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "I didn't think he'd really be this upset," he admitted.

"He'll get over it. We can find stuff to distract him."

"You sure about that?" Steve hurried after the children, who were still wandering across the parking lot, hand in hand.

James shook his head. Steve had been preoccupied all morning, ever since Sharon's early-morning phone call. Not that James blamed him; hearing that his kid's mother was coming back into town would throw any man for a loop. But they would make things work.

Reaching into the backseat, James retrieved the small pouch containing Skye's 'forest bingo' cards and various writing implements for the kids. He put that into his backpack beside the small first-aid kit, flashlight, bug spray, sunscreen, snacks, extra socks and the kids' water bottles. On reflection, James pulled out his own canteen from the small cooler and stowed that in the pack as well. The last thing he needed was for the civilians to get dehydrated.

James swung the pack onto his back and settled the straps over his prosthetic's shoulder. He raised his left arm in a test. As long as he didn't do anything too energetic, like run an obstacle course through the woods, the arm should be fine until evening.

The sound of crunching gravel alerted James to the children's return. Clint's mouth was still turned down in a pout, but he was no longer crying.

"All right, everyone, let's get a move-on," James instructed. "Hats and sunglasses, let's go."

Clint pulled off his glasses and handed them to Steve. "Can we come back in November?" the boy asked his father. "To shoot arrows then?"

"I don't think so," Steve said, folding the small glasses into their carrying case. "That's hunting season. Anyone out here with a bow needs a hunting permit."

Clint scowled. "I don't want to hunt things, I just want to shoot arrows." He accepted his sunglasses and put them on. "Can I wear my bow for Halloween?"

"Halloween!" Natasha squealed. She jammed her sunhat onto her head. "At Halloween, I'm going to go trick-or-treating _all_ _night long!"_

"You are, huh?" James said.

"Yes," Natasha declared. "I will get _all_ the candy! And have the _best_ costume!"

"Good plan." James closed the jeep's doors. "Are we all ready for our hike?"

"Yes!" Natasha exclaimed.

Clint wiped his nose on his t-shirt. "Okay."

James looked at Steve, who nodded behind his sunglasses. "Let's get this show on the road."

"All right." James tugged his baseball cap down over his forehead. "Forward, march!"

The children ran in the direction of the trail, James hurrying after them, Steve bringing up the rear.

Clint's disappointment was quickly forgotten as the children ran hither and yon along the trail, looking at the trees and the rocks and the sky. At the first rest break, after an application of bug spray, James pulled out Skye's forest bingo sheets and the children were soon intent on their challenge. Steve was quieter than usual, taking pictures of the kids as they tore around. Knowing the man had a lot on his mind, James let him be.

All in all, James was having a marvelous day. He'd gotten up early for a jog on the beach, and had been able to run himself into exhaustion before he took a dip in the ocean. Steve had brought him out a perfect cup of coffee, then they'd had a wonderful breakfast and an easy drive to the state park. It was only Tuesday, and they had a few more days at the beach before they all had to go back to the city.

"Hey," Steve said, dropping into step beside James. "You're smiling."

"I'm on vacation," James said, bumping shoulders with Steve. "I'm allowed to smile."

"It's good to see you having a good time," Steve said, slapping James on the back. His hand lingered on James' shoulder, a platonic gesture, but a pleasant shiver ran over James' skin all the same.

Swallowing hard, James said, "This vacation was a great idea."

"It's been great." Steve gave James' shoulder one last squeeze, then stepped away. "Normally we'd be at Abraham's now, but this, this is good too."

"Are you going to spend any time with him this summer?" James asked, wishing Steve had left his hand where it was just a little longer.

"I don't think so, but he may come down for a weekend before Clint starts school." Steve shook his head. "That's going to be a change, getting Clint to his new school in the mornings."

"Have you thought about how you're going to do it?" James asked.

"We'll have to leave earlier to catch the train," Steve said. "Getting Clint up to go to school was always a struggle, but I don't know if that was just because he didn't want to go, or if he was tired."

"He gets up pretty early to come over to my place," James pointed out. "How about we see how it goes?"

"Yeah." Steve adjusted his hat. "All this change, and he's only just six years old."

"Everything's always changing when you're six," James said. "That's what makes routine so important."

"Tell me about it," Steve said. "Hey, want to catch up with the kids and see if they want a snack?"

"You go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

As Steve jogged up the trail after the children, James hung back to watch the man go. He ran with an upward bounce in his step, and James wondered where Steve got all his energy.

"Must be that coffee," James muttered under his breath, and hurried after Steve.

The hike lasted another hour, with the kids filling out most of the boxes on their bingo cards. Steve got his photographs, James got to stretch the soreness out of his legs after the morning's exercise, and everyone piled back into the jeep tired and happy. James drove them out to the beach for their lunch, where the kids ran happily about on the sand for a while, then they drove back to the estate.

That afternoon, the dads split up, with Clint practicing his archery while Natasha built sandcastles and ran around in the surf. The children reconvened at the pool for even more swimming fun, James lying in the spray from the waterfall while Steve did laps in the big pool.

Dinner that night was grilled chicken and vegetables, cooked by Steve. The sky was clouding over and the wind picking up, so they ate inside and lounged by the fireplace until the children, wiped out by their active day, were put to bed just after nine. After that, Steve read while James sketched out some ideas for a work project until it was time for bed.

* * *

Wednesday dawned grey and wet. The children stared glumly out the windows at the downpour. It took all of Steve's might to coax them into the kitchen to help him make pancakes, and even then Natasha moaned and complained the entire time.

Finally, when James had heard enough grumbling, he asked, "What are we going to do today?"

"We're invited to afternoon tea with the Jarvises," Steve supplied, reaching for the syrup bottle before Clint's pancakes could float away. "That will be fun."

"That's so far ago," Clint whined, attacking his soggy pancakes with a spoon.

"Away," Steve corrected. "We will have fun this morning, too."

Natasha, her elbows on the table and her fork hanging out of her mouth, said, "But we were going to go _swimming_."

"Who says you can't go swimming in the rain?" James demanded. He alone had skipped the carbohydrate extravaganza, in favour of scrambled eggs with a side of Steve's grilled tomatoes from the previous night. "After breakfast, we do the dishes and we'll go out to the pool."

Clint spooned another bite of pancakes into his mouth. "It's cold out," he protested.

"It's not that cold," James said. "Nat, sit up straight at the table."

Natasha, who was dangling half out of her chair, sat upright. "Can we go in the hot tub?" she asked, her interest sparked.

"Yes, we can go in the hot tub," James said. "We'll have to be careful, in case we hear any thunder we'll need to get out of the water quickly. But we should be fine."

Steve's phone rang. The man snatched it up quickly, but the apprehension on his face eased when he looked at the screen. "It's Tony," he said, swiping at the screen as he stood up. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hi, Uncle Tony!" Clint shouted at his father's receding back. He turned to James. "Why'd we gotta get out of the pool if we hear thunders?"

"Because where there's thunder, there's lightning," James explained. "And lightning is drawn to water and metal and that can be dangerous. So if we hear thunder, we need to get out of the water very quickly and go into the pool house. Now hurry up and eat so we can get moving."

The children, perhaps invigorated by the potential danger of their morning swim, finished eating and were helping James clear the table when Steve returned. He said nothing about his phone call, only went to help tidy up. It wasn't until the children were upstairs, donning their bathing suits, that James asked Steve about the call.

"Tony wanted to let me know that he's having a party at the main house on Saturday night," Steve said.

"Did he forget to tell you before?" James asked.

"No, it's spur of the moment," Steve replied. He wiped a smear of soap suds off the countertop. "It's just Tony. He said Thor has something he wants to celebrate, so they're all coming out here. It'll be a small party, just the usual folks."

"Should we clear out? Head back to the city early?" James asked, draping the dish rag on the back of a chair to dry.

Steve looked up, startled by the question. "No, we're all invited," he said. "I thought the kids might want to go for a little bit, maybe half an hour. There's always good food, and no one ever gets too drunk before eleven."

"What about me?"

"What about you? Of course you're invited," Steve said, his cheeks slightly pink from the heat of the dishwater. "You can meet everyone, it'll be fun. Jan will be there too."

Ah yes, the police chief who had thought he was abducting Clint that first day on the beach. What fun that would be. "Maybe I'll stay here," James said, turning to put the dishes away into the cupboard. "Get an early start on packing."

He was aware that Steve was staring at him, making those sad doe eyes like he always did when he wasn't getting his way. "If you want," Steve said after a moment. "But you really are invited, and I'm sure everyone would love to meet you."

James wavered. It wasn't like he didn't want to go to Tony Stark's party; and it wasn't like he'd never had to suffer through a boring evening with stuffed shirts and assholes. He did it for work all the time, although he usually had Maria with him to make the evening bearable.

"Maybe, I guess, for a little bit." James ran his hand through his hair. "If that's what you want to do."

Steve's face lit up, like James had promised something far larger than just going to some stupid party. "It'll be great, Bucky, you'll see," he said.

"What's great?" Natasha demanded, pounding down the stairs with Clint on her heels. "Daddy, I'm ready for the hot tub."

"We're invited to a party on Saturday," James said. "You two sit tight, me and Steve have to go change."

Obediently, the children ran to the sofa and piled on, giggling as they bounced on the cushions. "Hurry, Daddy," Clint urged. "I want to go swimming!"

James looked at Steve. "You coming with us?"

"If you'll have me," Steve said. James' heart skipped a beat, but no, that wasn't what Steve meant at all. Because Steve was just James' friend, and no amount of wishing on James' part would ever change that.

James forced a smile onto his face. "Yeah, of course," he said. His voice sounded weird in his own ears, so he turned away, hoping Steve wouldn't notice. "Come on, don't want to make the kids wait."

He hurried up the stairs, hoping he could get his bathing suit and get into the bathroom to change before Steve followed him. Things had been going so well with him and Steve in the last few days, that James didn't want anything to change.

It didn't matter if James was in love with Steve or not. With James, his own feelings had always been his biggest liability. So he would do what he always did: shove those feelings into a tiny box in his mind, push it away, and try to forget.

* * *

The kids enjoyed the pool in spite of the rain. While James kept a worried ear attuned for the rumble of thunder, the kids played water dinosaurs with Steve, running around in the waterfall and taking dips in the hot tub. They trooped back to the house for lunch, wet and tired and happy.

Lunch was a quiet affair, then the kids had their baths in preparation for the afternoon's event. After the baths, Steve read the kids another chapter of _Harry Potter_ while James combed Natasha's hair dry, then Natasha and Clint dressed in their 'party clothes' before heading downstairs to draw Lucy a nice picture each to thank her for her invitation to afternoon tea.

"Do we need to wear ties?" James asked Steve, who was lounging on the sofa where James slept while James dug around in his suitcase. "If I thought this week was going to be some kind of fancy shindig, I'd have brought a nicer pair of pants."

"Nah," Steve said, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "That blue shirt with the collar, that's nice."

"I need to save that for Saturday." James hauled a folded green button-down shirt out of the depth of his suitcase. "This'll do."

He shook the shirt out, only a few creases from having lived in his suitcase for half a week. With Steve just sitting there, James hesitated. From what he remembered of the Army, normal straight guys wouldn't hesitate to change in front of their friends. James had a code about this sort of thing; when in doubt, act straight himself.

"We should have gotten some flowers for Lucy or something," James said conversationally as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. "Or a hostess gift."

"I asked the kids to draw a flower bouquet while they're at it," Steve said. He hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, and true to James' expectations, was hardly paying James any attention at all. "I thought we could get her something for the last day we're here."

"Yeah, good idea." James reached for his prosthetic arm. "I hope we haven't been too much of an imposition on her time."

Steve rolled his eyes. "She lives for impositions," he informed James. "She gets so bored when no one's down here. I mean, Tony comes sometimes, and Pepper hides out here when she needs to get work done, and there's usually someone at least once a month. Thor spent most of last winter here, he had a pregnant mare in one of the local barns."

James snapped the last strap into place, stretched out with the metal arm to settle it on his stump, then reached for his shirt. "Wait, didn't you say this Thor guy was your friend? College or something?"

"Yeah, but I introduced him to Tony and they hit it off." Steve frowned. "Well, not really. It's complicated."

"Are all your friends now friends with Tony Stark?" James hadn't meant for the question to sound so snarky, but the words had already left his mouth. To cover his discomfort, he turned away from Steve to button his shirt.

"Some of them." Steve's response sounded normal, but James didn't want to turn around to see if he was annoyed at James for bitching about his friends. "Thor is. But then, a lot of Tony's friends are now my friends, so we're even."

James smoothed the fabric of his shirt down over his chest. He wasn't even sure why all this talk of Steve's other friends was making him so anxious. It wasn't jealousy or anything like that; that would have been ridiculous. "Good," James said, turning around. "I mean, friends and all."

Steve pulled himself up from his slouch. "Yeah, they're okay," he said, smiling at James.

Forcing himself to breathe over the sudden pattering of his heart, James bent his metal elbow to bring his arm up to his chest. Buttoning his shirt cuffs was always a chore, but he was not about to go up to the big house looking anything less than his best. It was easy to button his left cuff; his right hand had always been deft at small tasks. But his right cuff was a different story.

He could have asked Natasha for help; she adored buttons. But James was not going to get into the habit of depending on Natasha for help with his disability. She was a kid, and didn't need to deal with his problems.

Steve was watching James from the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, James could see Steve open his mouth, then close it, then stand. He braced himself, in case some unwanted assistance came his way, but Steve just turned to lean over the loft banister. "Hey, how you kids doing down there?" Steve asked.

Relief mixed with humiliation in James' stomach as his prosthetic hand fumbled with the button on his right shirtsleeve. Some days, he didn't understand the way he reacted to Steve. He didn't want Steve's help, for fuck's sake. He was fully capable of buttoning his own shirtsleeve, like any functioning adult.

Thundering footsteps sounded on the stairs as Natasha and Clint stormed the loft. "Daddy!" Natasha yelled as she flung herself on the sofa. "I drew Lucy a flower!"

"Me too," said Clint, clambering up beside Natasha. His little purple tie was askew, his hair standing on end. "And then I drawed a dino-horse."

"What's that?" Steve asked, kneeling to straighten Clint's tie.

"A dinosaur riding a horse," Clint said, pushing his father away. He made a face as Steve smoothed down his hair.

"Aren't dinosaurs too big to ride horses?" Steve asked, letting himself be shoved away.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "There are _all kinds_ of dinosaurs," she explained to Steve, with the weary patience of children everywhere in handling their obtuse parents. "There are big ones and small ones and ones that are people-size."

"Like velociraptor," Clint said, his eyes wide in his earnestness. "That's what I did, a velociraptor on a horse. It's for Lucy too."

"I'm sure she'll enjoy it," Steve said, sitting beside Clint on the sofa.

"She will!" Natasha declared. She stuck out her feet, her bare toes wiggling in the air.

"Natasha, where are your tights?" James asked, finally hooking the tiny cuff button through the button hole. He tugged the fabric smooth, then stretched out his arm to settle the shirt over his prosthetic arm.

"I took them off," Natasha said, wiggling her toes some more. "It's too hot."

Meanwhile, Clint was patting Steve on the back of the hand. "Daddy," Clint said seriously, "When big kids go to a party, how do they do?"

"How do they do what?" Steve asked, catching Clint's hand and giving it a shake.

Clint made a face. "Do _stuff_. I'm six now, I'm not a little boy any more."

"Do you mean, how to behave?" James asked. He headed over to the couch and gestured for Natasha to stand. "Come on, sweet pea, get up, you're crumpling your skirt."

Natasha jumped to her feet with alacrity. "Fix it," she ordered, letting James turn her around so he could pull flat the dress's fabric.

"Yeah," Clint said, pausing to chew on his index finger.

"Well," James said, spinning Natasha around. She giggled. "Whenever you go to someone's house, you need to say please and thank you."

"And ask before you take something," Steve chimed in. "If there's food, you can say, 'may I have a cookie?' before you take one."

"What if they say no?" Natasha demanded, staggering to a halt. She draped herself over James' shoulder, and he gave her a quick hug, suddenly struck with how big she was getting. She'd grown up so much in the last few months.

"If someone says no, then you listen to them," Steve said. "You guys know this stuff."

Clint wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "What if you gotta fart? Grown-ups don't fart."

Steve was unable to hide the sudden smile that crossed his face, but he quickly schooled his features. "If you need to fart, you can say 'excuse me' and go into the bathroom to fart there."

"And grown-ups _do_ fart!" Natasha added gleefully. "One time, my daddy farted in the kitchen!"

This sent the children into gales of laughter, while Steve smiled again. James shook his head. "Yeah, just that once," he agreed. "But you two know how to behave. You're the best behaved kids I ever met. Just remember that this is a special occasion, and that we're going into Lucy's home."

"And Mr. Jarvis," Natasha added. "He's so _old_ but he lives there too."

"And Mr. Jarvis," James agreed. "All right, it's time for us to head up to the house. Go put your shoes on and we'll get going."

The kids dashed into their room. Steve hauled himself up. "Say, you ready for this?" he asked.

James spread his arms wide. "Do I not look ready for this?"

Steve looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on James' chest for so long that James had to look down to make sure he hadn't missed a button on his shirt. "You do," Steve said, then slipped down the stairs to the main floor.

James stared at Steve's retreating back, confused. Maybe he had something on his face. Oh well, he'd take a quick detour into the bathroom to check in the mirror before they left.

Sometimes, James thought as he walked to the bathroom, Steve made no sense.

* * *

At three minutes after two, James and Steve stood in front of the big house's main door, Natasha and Clint uncharacteristically quiet beside them. "You going to ring?" James asked Steve, shaking water from the folds of the umbrella.

This got the kids moving. "I want to ring!" Clint exclaimed, dashing for the doorbell. Natasha was right behind him, and they rang the bell rapidly a few times before Steve could catch their hands to pull them away.

"Polite people only ring the bell once," Steve said, taking their hands and guiding them firmly away from the doorbell. "And then we wait."

"I like to ring the bell," Clint protested. "It's loud!"

Natasha tugged on Steve's pant leg to get his attention. "Once, in school, I got to play the bells in music class!" she told him. "It was fun!"

"Can I play the bells too?" Clint asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Yes, because you go to my school now," Natasha said firmly, just as the large door began to open. She crowded in behind Steve's leg, her eyes wide as the door creaked its way to reveal the inside of the house. Lucy stood there, smiling at them all.

"Hello, everyone," she said warmly. "Thank you for coming."

Clint stepped forward, thrusting his rolled-up drawing at Lucy. "I made this for you," he said. "For thank you inviting us to tea."

This last sounded rehearsed, but he said it so seriously that James hid his smile. Lucy reached out for the roll of paper. "For me?" she said. "Why, thank you."

This spurred Natasha out of her shyness. "I drawed for you too," she said, hopping forward to shove her art roll into Lucy's other hand. "Because thank you!"

"What nice children," Lucy said, beaming down at the little ones. "I'll look at these in a minute. Now, if you wipe your shoes, you can come with me into the library. Tea is all laid out."

James rested the umbrella in the umbrella stand, as Steve closed the door behind them. The inside of the house was huge and decked out in all the accouterments of casual excessive wealth, but James had been in enough rich people's houses for work that most of the decor just slid right past his attention. The children, however, _oohed_ and _aahed_ and Natasha told Lucy in all seriousness that this looked like 'the Disney house'.

Lucy thanked Natasha and told her that she also liked the house very much.

As this conversation was happening, they followed Lucy across the huge lobby, down an ornate hallway, and through a door to come out into a large room, filled with books on three walls and large glass windows taking up most of the fourth wall. The room was cozy and warm, with a crackling fire in the fireplace.

Old Mr. Jarvis was seated in a leather armchair by the fire, a thin blanket over his knees. He was dressed in a suit, and James was suddenly regretful that he had not worn his tie.

"Hi, Mr. Jarvis!" Natasha said loudly, letting go of Lucy's hand to skip over to the old man's side. "We came for tea!"

"Excellent," said the old man, taking Natasha's offered hand in both of his. "It's always nice to have young people in the house."

"I came too," Clint said, hurrying over to join them. "Do you 'member me?"

"I do indeed." Mr. Jarvis detached himself from Natasha's grasp to shake Clint's hand. "You had a birthday a few days ago, did you not?"

"Uh huh," Clint said, nodding vigorously. "We had cake, and I got a new bow!"

"Cake, you say? Well, I hope you can eat some more cake, because I know that Lucy has prepared a special treat for you." He pointed at the tea cart, tucked in unobtrusively by the low table.

Twin gasps, and the children were running towards the trolley. Steve hightailed after them, cautioning to "Look, don't touch yet," leaving James standing next to the old man.

Mr. Jarvis shook his head. "Oh, to be so energetic," he said with a raspy chuckle. "Don't tell Lucy I said so, but she and her sisters were even worse."

"They do have a lot of energy," James said. He sat down in the armchair across from Mr. Jarvis's, where he had a clear line of sight to the tea trolley. The children were crowing over its contents, pointing and exclaiming, while Lucy explained and Steve took pictures at Clint's request. "They spent all morning in the pool, but they're still at it."

"Are they enjoying their break from the city?"

"They are," James said, turning his attention fully on the old man. Steve would have to be on his own with this one. "I've been meaning to take Natasha on a trip, but with work and one thing and another, we never got to it."

He wondered if Mr. Jarvis would ask about Natasha's mother; old people usually did, but the man just nodded. "It used to be that way with Anthony, as well. When he was younger. But get him out here and all he'd want to do was to play with his robots."

James perked up, sensing a source of information about Tony Stark. Not that he was interested in the tabloid gossip; James didn't have time for that crap, but anything he could learn about Steve's friend before the weekend party would be useful. "Tony Stark and robots turned out to be a pretty good deal, though."

Mr. Jarvis sighed. "It's all fun and games with Anthony until something blows up," he said resignedly. "But at least he enjoys it. And he also likes to swim, he had the large pool put in back in, oh, ninety-five. Before that we had one of those smaller pools. Easier to clean, mind, and the water bills. But in the dry years, we drain the pools and Anthony spends his time in the workshop." He smiled distantly at the recollection.

James curled his left hand into a fist, the tiny joints of the metal prosthetic moving silently under the casing. "It's good to turn a hobby into a career," he said, then winced as he realized that he had just compared himself to the fourth richest man in the world. "You know. Keeps you interested."

"It does," agreed Mr. Jarvis. "And yourself? Lucy tells me that you are in security?"

The men talked about business, while the children waited impatiently as Lucy arranged the tea treats on the small table. Clint bounced on his toes, his hair flopping in his enthusiasm, while Natasha sat on the edge of the couch with her hands clenched into tiny fists, pressed against her heart.

Finally, Lucy had arranged the food and the plate and cups to her satisfaction. "Well, now, just wait another moment," she said to the children, then made her way across the room. "It's time for tea, Dad."

"How delightful." The old man pushed the blanket off his legs, then, with Lucy's help, rose creakily to his feet. James stood at a discrete distance, ready to dive in if the old man fell. But everything went without incident, as Lucy and Mr. Jarvis walked over to the couches, where Mr. Jarvis was seated on another armchair next to a handy side table.

James went over to sit with the children, who were vibrating now in their excitement. "Look, Daddy," Natasha said urgently, pointing at the table. "There are cupcakes. And cheese sandwiches. And…" Natasha took a deep breath to deliver this final announcement. " _Strawberry tarts!_ "

"This all looks delicious," James agreed. He put his arm around Natasha, to make sure she didn't fling herself bodily at the food. "I can't wait to try it."

"Me either," Natasha said, and gave a happy sigh. "Daddy, this is the best afternoon."

James bent down to kiss her hair. "It sure is." Straightening up, James caught Steve's eye. The man gave James a smile, his blue eyes twinkling in the warm glow of the lights. "The best afternoon."

With great ceremony, Lucy poured the tea. The children's cups were only a third full after Lucy had added milk and sugar, which James hoped would ward off any spills. The food, tiny sandwiches and scones and cookies and sweets, including a small cupcake each for the children, was delicious, and the children ate as if they were starving. The adults ate more sedately, sipping tea and talking of inconsequential matters, a bit to do with James' job, and the children's plans for the summer, and Lucy talking about how Hurricane Sandy had hit this side of Long Island.

As the adults talked, the children were slowing down. After all, James supposed there was a limit to how much buttercream a six-year-old could eat. Putting the remains of her cupcake on her plate, Natasha wiped her hands on her napkin (instead of her hundred-dollar dress, thank god), then climbed up onto James' lap for a rest.

Meanwhile, Clint licked icing off his thumb before going over to his father. He whispered something in Steve's ear, received a quiet reply, then he headed off towards the library door. Steve stayed where he was, turning his attention back to the conversation.

Soon, Clint returned, his shirt and tie spattered with water. James opened his mouth to say something, then gave a mental shrug. At least the boy had washed his hands. Clint walked right up to Steve and said in a stage whisper, "Can I read a book?"

Steve waited until Lucy finished her sentence before saying, "Pardon me, but Clint wants to know if he can look at the books."

"Why, of course!" Lucy said. "Books are made for reading, after all. What do you like to read about?"

Clint put up his hand. "I like birds!" he announced.

"Well, right over there by the globe, there is a whole shelf of bird books," Lucy said, pointing. "Why don't you go see if you can find anything you like."

"Yeah!" Clint said, then headed off to the bookshelf in question.

"Nat, honey, do you want to go read a book too?" James asked.

Still on his lap, Natasha shook her head, turning her head against his shoulder.

"Food coma," Steve murmured. "They ate a lot."

"Ate a lot and wore themselves out this morning," James agreed, brushing the hair back from Natasha's cheek. "Work hard, play hard, right Nat?"

Natasha, now sound asleep against James' shoulder, did not answer.

* * *

The afternoon tea session went on for another hour. Natasha woke up with a start after a ten-minute doze, demanding to know if she had missed any of the fun. James settled her on the floor beside Clint with a large picture book featuring horses.

When the adults' conversation had worn itself out, Steve and James said their thank-yous and packed up the children for the short walk back to the beach house. Lucy presented Steve with a small picnic basket of 'extras' and said that they would see them all again on Saturday. After shaking hands with Mr. Jarvis, everyone made their way out of the house, Natasha sleepily refusing to walk on her own. James carried her, not wanting to cause a scene.

"That was a nice book," Clint declared, holding Steve's hand as they walked back through the rain. "It had nice birds. Maybe I'll draw the birds."

"That sounds fun," Steve said. "Can I draw with you too?"

"Okay," Clint said, making it sound like a concession. "If you have to."

"What about you, Natasha?" James asked. "Do you want to draw too?"

"No," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I wanna go into the rain."

"You do?" James hitched Natasha up on his arm. "Can I come with you?"

"Yes." Natasha flopped over James' shoulder. "You can carry the bucket."

"Okay, sweet pea."

Back in the house, James carried Natasha upstairs to change out of her party dress, while Clint and Steve got the food hamper settled in the fridge. Going into the children's bedroom, James set Natasha down on her bed before going over to the little closet to retrieve the dress's hanger. "Do you need help with the zipper?" he asked, observing Natasha's attempts to reach the back of her dress.

"Yes." Natasha slid to the ground and turned around, pulling her hair out of the way. "Daddy, my tummy is buzzy."

"Good buzzy or bad buzzy?" James asked, undoing the dress's zipper. "Okay, take that off and go change into your beach clothes."

Natasha let the dress fall to the ground and stepped on it on her way to the dresser, leaving James to pick up the expensive outfit. "Good buzzy," she said as she pulled on her green t-shirt. "But heavy."

"You kids ate a lot of sugar," James agreed, standing to hang up the dress. "That's why you shouldn't eat too much sugar too often, you'll feel bad."

"That's dumb." Natasha stepped into her shorts. "I should eat sugar _all_ the time."

"You'll feel sick to your stomach if you do that," James cautioned. "Go downstairs and see what Clint is doing."

"Okay!" Natasha shrieked, pelting out of the room.

James followed more sedately. Glancing over the loft railing, he could see Clint, now clad in his still-damp bathing suit from the morning, carefully arranging tiny sandwiches on a plate. Natasha jumped down the last three steps to race to join her friend. Steve, hovering to prevent any more additional overindulgence, glanced up to the loft, and gave James a smile.

James smiled back, ruthlessly squashing the sudden flutter in his chest, and went in search of his own beach clothes. As he pulled his t-shirt on over his prosthetic arm, his phone pinged with a new text message. James picked up his phone to see who was texting him. It was Skye.

_hey mr b everything is ok. Nat's school called the house line today to set up pre school interviews (??) so anyway call them when you have time_

"Daddy!" Natasha yelled from the kitchen. "Let's go!"

Still holding his phone, James went to the head of the stairs. "Can you guys start without me?" he asked. "I need to make a phone call."

"You're boring," Natasha informed her father, then turned and headed for the door, Clint on her heels. Steve raised his eyebrows at James.

"It's fine," James said. "I'll just be a minute."

"Take your time, we'll be fine," Steve said, and then he was off.

In the suddenly quiet house, James was able to concentrate on calling Natasha's school, and in ten minutes he was heading out onto the wet sand. The rain had slowed to a light mist, while out on the ocean, the fog was starting to roll towards the land. A distant foghorn sounded mournfully across the water. Soon, the entire beach would be covered in a thick, murky fog.

James shivered. He still had nightmares of the fog in Afghanistan, the slow tendrils curling around the rocky outcroppings in the mountains, the heavy cold air crawling down the back of his neck like a snake. He quickened his pace, suddenly needing to see his daughter, to know she was safe.

The children were digging in the sand just above the rise of the waves. They were wet and sandy and happy, and something in James' chest eased when he saw them. _Safe_.

Natasha spotted James first. "Daddy, look," she said, holding up a piece of driftwood. "This is my shovel."

"It's very nice," James said, stepping across the sand to join Steve. "Being resourceful in your environment."

"No, it's just pretty," Natasha retorted, then went back to her digging.

Steve rocked back on his heels, smiling at the children. "Work call?" he asked when James was close enough to hear his quiet words.

"The school," James said, his voice pitched for Steve's ears. "Student-teacher interviews in a couple weeks. I asked them to schedule Nat and Clint next to each other, that will probably make them both feel better."

Steve turned to stare at James. "I didn't get a call."

"They're going alphabetically, Rogers." James elbowed Steve gently in the side. "They had a double spot on Wednesday afternoon, you're usually done work early on Wednesday."

There was something in the way Steve was staring at him that made James suddenly realize what a liberty he had taken. He'd thought it was a good idea, to have the kids interviewed together. It would save the adults time in going back and forth to the school, and the children would probably be more relaxed if they had each other for support. But that was a choice he had made, not talking to Steve about it first.

James took a deep breath. "You can call them, tell them when a better time is," he said, not looking at Steve. "Never mind."

He took a step toward the children, but Steve's hand on his bicep arrested him. "Bucky."

"I'm sorry, okay?" James snapped, unable to move while Steve was touching (touching!) him. He made the mistake of looking at Steve's face, bracing himself for the man's irritation. He was surprised to see a look of rueful understanding on Steve's face. "What?"

"Thanks," was all Steve said. "I'll see if I can make it work that day."

James pushed his hair back from his face, unable to stay still. "Yeah," he said, putting his arm down and sidestepping at the same time so Steve was no longer within touching distance. "I, uh, I should have talked to you first."

"It's fine," Steve said. "Like I said, I'll make it work. You're right, the kids would probably feel better if they can tag-team the teacher."

Across the sand came a shriek of outrage as the surf came up, washing over the children and filling the hole in the sand, and James had to go intervene before Natasha declared war on the sea itself.

* * *

Dinner that night was leftovers from the tea, as well as a salad. After baths and story time, the children collapsed into sleep, leaving James and Steve to sit around in front of the fire, talking. It started with Steve telling James about his time in college, and progressed into James talking about his time in the Rangers. He kept the worst details back; Steve wouldn't understand some of the things he'd had to do in the Army.

The conversation kept going until Clint started shouting upstairs, and the adults' hands were full with calming Clint down from his nightmare (he had dreamed that someone had stolen his new bow and he wasn't ever going to be able to shoot an arrow ever again), and soothing Natasha, who had woken when Clint began yelling and was convinced that there were monsters coming out of the ocean to get her.

All in all, the household settled very late, and everyone woke late the following morning. Natasha was clingy, demanding that she sit in James' lap during breakfast, and that he go with her while she dressed in her bathing suit for the morning swim. James made no protest, figuring that the girl had been doing very well on her first trip away from home. It was to be expected that she might have a cranky morning or two.

Clint, who had been carrying around his unstrung bow since he had woken up that morning, insisted that he was going to practice all day long. Steve had been expecting this, and had already set up the practice target poolside. In spite of the difficulties in corralling two grumpy children to the pool, the morning was uneventful. Natasha splashed around in the waterfall, Steve and James took turns between swimming laps and watching the children, and Clint practiced archery to his little heart's content.

After lunch (hotdogs, which cheered the children up beyond measure), it was back to the pool, then into town for a walk on the boardwalk and dinner of fish and chips in a dingy seaside restaurant that had been recommended by Lucy. The grimy fake pirate decor gave James serious doubts as to the establishment's hygiene, but the kids loved it. The food was pretty good, James had to admit.

After dinner, and after the drive back to the estate, the Barnes and Rogers settled on the beach with a small bonfire to watch the sun set. The children roasted marshmallows and were sleepy, sticky and sooty by the time James and Steve carried them into the house to get ready for bed.

The night was so perfect, clear and warm, that after Clint and Natasha were asleep, James and Steve went back out to the bonfire. For a while, they just sat in silence, listening to the wash of waves on the sand, the crackle of the fire.

Eventually, Steve let out a deep sigh as he settled back on his beach blanket. "This has been a great week," he said, and sighed again.

"It sure has been," James agreed, poking at the fire with a stick. "It's been good for the kids. Nat had a great time this week."

"Yeah," Steve said. "Clint's done great, too."

Silence fell again, a companionable, gentle quiet. James couldn't remember ever being so content. His little girl was happy, he had spent the week in the company of his best friend, and he felt…

James felt safe in a way that he hadn't in a very long time.

"Hey, Bucky? Can I ask you a question?"

James poked at a glowing log, sending a spray of sparks into the air. "Sure, what's up?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Would, um, I mean, when we're back in town… would you like to go out one night, go see a movie or something?"

The question sent butterflies spinning in James' stomach. He knew that Steve was just asking as a friend, as a buddy, but his treacherous mind couldn't help imagining what it might be like if Steve was asking for real, like a date.

But no, he could not think like that. In James' experience, there was no faster way on the planet to alienate a straight man than to assume his friendly questions had a romantic nature.

Taking hold more firmly of his stick, James said, "Sure, sounds good. We can get a sitter for the kids. Let me check with Maria to make sure that nothing's going to blow up, we can pick a night then."

"Great!" Steve exclaimed, with too much enthusiasm for a night of hanging out with the guys. However, James reasoned, a night away from work and the constant neediness of two small children might make any man overenthusiastic. "Yeah, let's sort it out when we get back."

"Okay." James sat up on his heels to knock the remaining embers down, stirring them into the sand. "It's going to be a good day tomorrow, from the looks of the weather."

"I think so," Steve agreed. He bounced to his feet and went to retrieve the water bucket from beside the fire. "We just going to hang around?"

"That's what vacation is for." James stood out of the way of the smoke as Steve doused the embers. "Two more days of fun."

"Two and a half," Steve reminded him. "We can still hang around on Sunday before we need to drive back."

"Won't Tony Stark need his pool or something?" James asked, waiting for Steve to join him for the short walk to the house.

"I don't think so," Steve said. He stepped to James' side, so close that his arm brushed James' elbow as they walked across the sand. "Usually, after a Stark party, no one's up until noon. We'll be on the road by then."

James shook his head. "The last time I slept in til noon was when I was eight and had the flu." He was not, he decided, going to count his weeks-long recovery in the military hospital in Germany.

"Yeah, I guess there's no sleeping in, in the Army."

"Not unless you want to spend a month on report."

They had reached the house, and for the next few minutes James busied himself with his nightly security check of all points of entrance and egress. Once he was satisfied that all was secure, he headed up to the loft. Steve was just coming out of the bathroom, ready for bed in his sleep pants and an old t-shirt. He looked rumpled and comfortable and James ached to touch him.

"So, see you in the morning," Steve said, hesitating in the door to his bedroom.

"Yeah, sounds good," James said inanely, going over to sort through his suitcase for his sleepwear. "Last one up makes breakfast."

"Only if the first one up makes the coffee."

James turned toward the bathroom, his change of clothing in hand. "That sounds like an offer I can't refuse," he said, not really paying attention to his words. "Sleep well, okay?"

He escaped into the bathroom before he did or said something that would turn Steve against him. James had always been very conscious about not acting _too gay_ , whatever the hell that meant. Right now, with the promise of some adult time in the coming weeks, plus a perfect cup of coffee in the morning and a day together with the kids, he'd come so close to touching Steve in a way that no one could mistake for fraternal.

James wondered what it would be like, to put his hand on Steve's lower back and leave it there, feeling the muscles shift in Steve's strong back.

Or maybe he could put his arm around Steve's neck, pull him close so his side was pressed against James' torso, almost an embrace.

Or maybe he could hold Steve's hand, Steve's long fingers twined with his as they just stood, together, for a while.

James dropped his handful of clothing on the counter. If he did any of those things, Steve would push him away, stop spending time with James, pull Clint away from their lives.

Turning his back on the mirror so he wouldn't have to look at himself, James began to strip to ready himself for bed. He was in love with his best friend and he'd never be able to admit it to anyone. He was just going to have to get over this hopeless yearning, and the sooner he accepted that, the better off he'd be.

His throat hurt, and James tried to tell himself that he'd breathed too much smoke from the fire.

* * *

Friday was another beautiful day. With lots of good food, and alternating between pool and beach time, the kids wore themselves out early. They ended the day in the house, Steve reading the conclusion of _Harry Potter_ to the kids while James started the unenviable task of cleaning up the house after a week's occupation.

James was up with the dawn on Saturday, getting in a run on the beach before the kids appeared, tousled and ravenous. After breakfast, everyone headed to the pool for one last full day of vacation fun.

At around eleven, as James lay in the spray from the waterfall, Natasha came over to him. "Daddy," she said seriously. "Tonight is the party."

"It sure is," James agreed, sitting up. "Are you ready for the party?"

"I am." Natasha sat down beside James. She had gotten so much sun in the past week, in spite of all the sunscreen, that she had gone freckly all over her shoulders and arms. "Is it a late party?"

"Sounds like it," James said. "Do you think you'll be able to stay up late?"

"Maybe."

"Or," James said cautiously, knowing Natasha's thoughts on the subject. "We could all have a nap after lunch. So we can stay up extra late tonight."

He held his breath, waiting for the outburst declaiming Natasha's extreme maturity and age, combined with the familiar refrain of _only babies nap._

However, this was apparently a day for surprises, for Natasha said, "Maybe, if _you_ have a nap, I can have a nap too."

"Maybe we can do that," James agreed, putting his arm around Natasha's shoulders. "And I bet Clint and Steve can join us."

"Clint doesn't like to have naps," Natasha informed her father. "He says that naps make him angry. Up me."

"We'll see how it goes," James said, helping Natasha stand. "Now, how about we go over to the big pool and sit beside the deep end?"

Natasha took a deep breath. "Yes, I will sit," she said, holding James' hand. "But I won't go in, no I won't!"

* * *

After lunch, James held his breath for a potential meltdown when naps were suggested, but the children let themselves be put to bed. Steve said he would do some packing on the main floor, so James left him to it, and went up to the couch in the loft to get some shut-eye of his own.

He woke to the sound of muffled giggles and the sensation of something scraping against the bottom of his foot. "Whatever you're doing," James said without opening his eyes, "Knock it off."

The scraping stopped abruptly and the giggles retreated. Giving the culprits enough time to get away, James eventually sat up and blinked at his surroundings. Natasha's hairbrush was lying on the ground beside the couch, where it had been dropped mid-scrape.

"Kids," James muttered under his breath, and hauled himself to his feet.

The afternoon on the beach was interrupted occasionally as the estate's landscaping staff made their forays this way and that to tidy some greenery here, rake some sand there. After the third gardener happened across their path, James slapped Steve on the shoulder to get his attention. "Does Stark really give a crap about symmetrically pruned trees?"

"No, but Lucy does," Steve said. "Don't roll your eyes like that, this is important to her."

James shook his head. He hoped that the seven-person landscaping crew was taking the Stark chequebook to the cleaners, at least. _Rich people._

At around five, they headed back to the beach house for an early dinner, then bath time and other party preparations. For the first time in the trip, James was sorry the small guesthouse didn't have a television to distract the children from their excitement. Instead, Steve ended up reading the first few chapters of the second _Harry Potter_ book before everyone went upstairs to change into party clothes.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" James asked as he knotted the tie around his neck. In their bedroom, the children were shrieking with such enthusiasm that James suspected they were jumping on their beds. "Getting them all worked up before bedtime?"

"It'll be fine," Steve called from behind his closed bedroom door. "Didn't you ever go to parties when you were a kid?"

"Only parties my family went to were those backyard things where all the men drank too much beer and the women stayed in the kitchen gossiping about the neighbours," James said. He smoothed his tie down and took a deep breath. He was about as put together as he was going to get without dress shoes. "Always hated those things."

Steve's bedroom door opened and the man himself stepped out onto the landing. James nearly bit his tongue, because while Steve's trousers and belt were decently arranged, the man's dress shirt was open to display an abundance of perfectly tanned chest. And no matter that James had been staring at Steve's bare chest at the pool for a week; here, showing peek-a-boo behind the folds of crisp white cotton, it was like every one of James' secret teenage fantasies had come true at once.

That memory, or at least the memory of how James' teenage years had played out, splashed cold water on his libido. He turned away so Steve wouldn't see his hand shaking. "I probably won't hang out at the party long," James went on, checking again that his prosthetic arm's harness straps lay flat under his shirt. "When the kids want to leave, I can come back here with them."

"You don't need to do that," Steve objected as he buttoned his shirt. "We can both come back."

"They're your friends, Steve, you should be able to party it up with them," James pointed out. His arm was secure and as unobtrusive as a metal prosthetic could be under the long-sleeve dress shirt. "It's no big deal."

"I just wanted you to be able to have fun too," Steve said. James was about to answer when a loud _thud_ sounded from the children's room, then silence.

James was across the loft in a heartbeat, wrenching the door open. Natasha and Clint stood huddled in the exact centre of the floor, looking disheveled and shocked, but no tears.

"What happened?" James demanded. Steve pressed in beside him in the doorway, but for once the man's touch didn't even register on James' mind. "Did someone fall?"

"No," Natasha said in a tiny voice. Clint shook his head.

"Did something break?" Steve asked.

Two small heads shook _no._

"Did someone jump off the bed and land a little hard?" Steve suggested.

Natasha put her hands behind her back, while Clint stared at his father with wide eyes. His glasses were lying on the bedside table, waiting to be put on for the evening's party.

"Is that someone okay?" Steve asked patiently.

"Uh huh," Clint said in a whisper.

"Good." Steve put his hand on James' lower back as he slipped past the man into the room. "Now, we need to get ready and that means no more jumping. Where's your hearing aid?"

Clint put his hands out in an expression of bewilderment. "It got lost!"

"Monsters ate it," Natasha put in.

Steve sighed.

It took five minutes of dismantling the room to find Clint's hearing aid wedged in behind the dresser leg and the wall, where it had tumbled when Clint landed hard. Tactfully, James pulled Natasha out into the loft to tidy her hair while Steve and Clint had a little chat about the hearing aid and jumping around on beds and such.

"Daddy," Natasha asked as James clipped Natasha's prized butterfly barrettes in place. "Are the grownups scary?"

"At the party tonight?" James flattened the fabric of Natasha's skirt, which had gotten wrinkled during the bed jumping. "No, they're all Steve's friends."

"What if I don't like them?"

"Then you can come stand with me and we can hang out together, how does that sound?"

"Okay." Natasha submitted herself to a full-rotation inspection, then leaned against James' knee. "Daddy, you look pretty with your tie."

"Thank you, sweet pea." James kissed Natasha's hair, careful to avoid disturbing her barrettes. "You look very grown up in your nice dress."

Natasha beamed.

In another minute, Steve and Clint came out of the bedroom, Clint looking downcast and tragic. "Are you in trouble?" Natasha demanded.

"Yes," Clint moaned, flinging himself down on the sofa beside James.

"No," contradicted Steve. "You were reminded that you're not supposed to be jumping on beds."

Clint, who was now lying with his face mashed against the cushions, said darkly, "Troublesome."

The word, coupled with Clint's tone, sparked a months-old memory in James. "Hey, come here," James said, lifting Clint so the boy was sitting on his knee. Natasha crowded in on the other side. "Clint, you're not in trouble."

The boy pressed his cheek against James' neck. He was breathing hard.

"No one is in trouble," James went on. "Okay? Things just got a bit out of hand, and we all need to calm down a little. And then it's time to go to our party and see all the people."

Steve settled onto the couch beside James, putting his hand on Clint's back. "Bucky's right, Clint. We'll just take a few minutes to calm down, then we'll put on our glasses and go up to see Uncle Tony."

Clint sniffled loudly. He muttered something against James' shirt. "What's that, Clint?" James asked.

The boy sat back and took a deep breath. "I said, _you_ don't wear glasses," he said crossly. "Only _me_."

"Uncle Bruce wears glasses," Steve said.

"And Grandpa Abraham!" Natasha chimed in. She took hold of Clint's hand. "I like your glasses. You look 'singuished."

It took James a tongue-twisting moment to figure that one out. "You're right, Natasha, Clint does look very distinguished with his glasses on," he said.

"Very distinguished, and very grown up," Steve said. He lifted Clint effortlessly off James' leg, and gave him a hug. "Are we good?"

Clint nodded against Steve's cheek. "Put me down," he requested. Once Steve had done so, Clint rubbed at his hair. "Is Uncle Bruce gonna be at the party?"

"Yes," Steve said as he straightened Clint's clothes.

"Good. Uncle Bruce is _so cool_ ," Clint told Natasha. "He is the smartest person Daddy ever meet, even Uncle Tony!"

"Uncle Bruce is a very intelligent man, and he is our good friend." Steve ruffled Clint's hair. "Go get your glasses."

Clint thumped his way across the floor to the bedroom. Steve stood up, tightened his tie, and went to get his shoes. This left James and Natasha sitting on the couch, staring at each other.

"Daddy," Natasha said, "Are there going to be any little girls at the party?"

"No, pumpkin pie, just you," James said. Natasha giggled.

"I'm not pumpkin pie!" she declared. "Take a picture of my dress."

James obediently pulled out his phone to take several photos of Natasha, then managed a few father-daughter selfies before the Rogers rejoined them. Steve insisted on a group shot, which is how James found himself squished in beside Steve Rogers, the scent of Steve's aftershave teasing his senses as Natasha and Clint yelled, "Cheese!"

The walk to the big house took nearly no time at all, and then Lucy was opening the front door to them. The strains of distant music drifted out into the night.

"Hi, Miss Lucy!" Clint said loudly. "We're here to party!"

"Then you have come to the right place," Lucy said with a smile. She ushered them inside, closed the door, and led them down the hallway, past the library, and into a large room with windows that, at the moment, showed all the brilliance of the Long Island sunset across the water.

The room, large and elegantly furnished, held eight adults, James' quick scan told him. Four women and four men, all of whom looked up when Steve Rogers entered the room. These were Steve's friends, James thought, his stomach twisting a bit at the realization.

Before any of the adults could say anything, Natasha perked up and said loudly, "Is that _cheese_?"

She made a beeline to the buffet table against the wall, heading for the cheese platter set tantalizingly at eye level. James bolted after her, conscious of the impression his daughter was making.

"Nat, honey, why don't we meet the people first, then we can try some snacks," he said, catching her hand before she grabbed the block of cheddar off the slate platter.

"I don't want to meet the people, I want to meet the cheese," Natasha protested.

James knew that tone in Natasha's voice, and knew that her nap that afternoon would not be enough to prevent a full-scale meltdown at this point. Reminding himself that she was only five, and that it wasn't a big deal, James went down on one knee beside Natasha. "One piece, and then we'll go meet everyone," he told her. "What do you want?"

Natasha put her fingers in her mouth as she examined the platter with huge eyes. "All of them," she breathed.

"Let's start with cheddar," James said. He handed Natasha a cracker, used the antique cheese knife to slice a sliver of cheddar off the block, and laid it onto the cracker. "Eat careful so there's no crumbs."

Natasha bit into the cracker. "Mmm," she said, chewing with her mouth closed. She swallowed, put the rest of the cracker into her mouth, and let James wipe her hands with a nearby napkin.

Then James picked Natasha up on his right arm and carried her over to where the group of people was currently welcoming Steve and Clint.

"Hello again," said Police Chief Van Dyne, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. "I like your dress, Ms. Barnes."

Natasha stuck out her hand. "Hello, Officer," she said. "You have a pretty necklace."

The woman smiled at Natasha as they shook hands. "Have you been having a fun vacation?"

"Yes!" Natasha said. "We go swimming and play on the beach."

"Sounds very relaxing." The woman turned her gaze to James. "Mr. Barnes."

"Chief Van Dyne," James said. He saw a glint in the woman's eye at the title. "Any friend of Steve's can call me James."

"And you'd better call me Jan," she said. "Come on, have you met the rest of the mob?"

Jan led James and Natasha over to the main knot of people. Clint was in the process of talking excitedly to a man, middle-aged with glasses and loosely curling dark hair. This must be the celebrated Uncle Bruce. The others hung around, greeting Steve in various ways. All except for one man, whom James had no trouble identifying as Tony Stark.

And Tony Stark was staring directly at James' prosthetic hand.

James tensed, something in the back of his mind screaming at him to cut and run, take Natasha and get in the jeep and go back to the city. Tony Stark's company had built the prototype arm, and to do that the company had needed painfully intimate details of his injury, lifestyle and physique. For the last year, James had thought that it was just some engineering hack who'd have known, but now, seeing the way Tony Stark stared at him, James knew that Tony was the one who'd made the arm, and that meant he knew all there was to know about James Buchanan Barnes.

Skin crawling, James forced himself to walk over to the group. If he hadn't promised to drive Steve and Clint home the next day, he'd have just kept right on walking back to the jeep.

Natasha, sensitive as always to James' moods, had gone still on his arm, but Steve hadn't noticed a thing. "Hey, everyone! This is James and Natasha," Steve was saying, clapping his hand on James' right shoulder. "Bucky, this is everyone."

"Natasha is my best friend!" Clint announced to the room at large.

"It's wonderful to meet you," said a tall redheaded woman. She held out her hand to James. With Natasha on his right arm, he had no choice but to extend his prosthetic hand, the Stark arm exposed to every person in the room. From the shift in expression on Bruce's face, James knew that that man had also played a role in the arm's construction. But the woman made no sign that anything was out of the ordinary as she took the metal hand in hers, and gave it a small shake. "I'm Pepper."

Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries. Wasn't James in exulted company tonight? "It's nice to meet you," James said, forcing his bland _Winterhill Security_ persona to the fore. "Steve talks about you a lot."

"And you as well," Pepper said, which set more alarm bells off in James' head. What could Steve have said about him to these people? "And this must be the lovely Natasha."

Natasha curled in against James' body, her cheek pressed against his as she smiled. "You are a C-E-O," she announced. "Clint said so."

"I am," Pepper said with a smile. "Do you know what that means?"

"Chief of Everything, Obviously," Natasha said, and the room burst into friendly laughter. "Why's that funny?" she demanded.

"Who told you that?" James asked, bouncing the girl on his arm so she wouldn't startle.

"Skye," Natasha said. "She is my tutor." She pronounced the two syllables in the last word separately.

"Skye taught me to read a book," Clint told Bruce. "She is the smartest person I know."

"She sounds wonderful," agreed Bruce as he stood. He nodded at James. "Bruce Banner."

The rest of the room was introduced as Lt. Colonel James Rhodes ("Call me Rhodey"), Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster, and Thor Odinson. Tony Stark had retreated to the buffet table, and that was just fine with James.

As everyone started to move around again, refilling drinks and chattering, James set Natasha on her feet and grabbed Steve's arm before the man could move off. "You forgot to mention that your college buddy Thor is the crown prince of Denmark," he muttered in Steve's ear.

The look of astonishment on Steve's face did nothing to ease the residual churning in James' stomach. "I didn't think you paid attention to that," he said. "Does it matter?"

James, currently standing in a room with four of the most powerful people on the East Coast, said, "Of course not."

Darcy Lewis, a young dark-haired woman with glasses and a friendly manner, had taken Clint and Natasha over to the buffet table and was helping them select an assortment of small treats. Clint was busy picking out sweets, but Natasha was intently perusing the cheese platter. As he moved closer, James heard Natasha telling Darcy about her favorite cheeses.

"And I like camembert but not swiss because swiss is too sour," Natasha said, making a face to demonstrate the sourness in question. "And my favorite is also wax cheese and havarti and mozzarella."

"I'm with you on the havarti," Darcy said. "Do you like blue cheese?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to try it?"

Natasha looked up at James. "Daddy, do I like blue cheese?" she asked.

"It's hard to say," James said, handing Clint a napkin to wipe whipped cream off his face. "You can try some, and if you don't like it, you can spit it out."

Natasha took a deep breath. "I will try," she said, her face set and determined.

Darcy, to her credit, didn't laugh at Natasha. She put a crumb of blue cheese onto a thin slice of apple and handed it to Natasha. With a gulp of trepidation, Natasha bit into the apple, and chewed thoughtfully.

Darcy and James waited for Natasha's judgment. Wrinkling her nose, Natasha swallowed, then rubbed her mouth. "I don't like it," she said.

"That's cool," Darcy said. "Skip the blue cheese for now, there's plenty of time to kill off those taste buds with coffee in high school."

Across the room, Jane called Darcy away, so James helped the children finish filling their plates, and led them over to an out-of-the-way coffee table. "No running around while you're eating," he admonished, then went to get them something to drink.

Bruce was leaning against the bar, pressing buttons on the complicated cappuccino machine. "Want one?" he asked, wincing as the milk frother spurted foam onto his shirt.

"No, thank you," James said. He set two tumblers on the bar and set about making Natasha's favorite party drink, layering in grenadine, orange juice, and Sprite. He made no effort to hide his metal hand, given that everyone had already seen all there was to see. "So, when did you all get out here?"

"A little after six," Bruce said, pouring the steamed milk into a mug. He added a dollop of liqueur. "Rhodey just arrived, he's been in DC for the last month." A few more buttons, and the machine poured a stream of espresso into the mug. "Is it going to make things weird if I ask about the arm?"

"Depends on what kind of answers you want." James slipped a maraschino cherry into each tumbler.

"I've seen some of the data," Bruce said. "Robotics is Tony's area, but we collaborated on the prosthesis project."

James topped each glass with an orange slice. "If you've seen the data," he said, keeping his voice flat, "Then you don't need to ask anything. Excuse me."

Turning, James carried the glasses over to the children's table. Once the glasses were set down, he sat on the edge of a nearby chair to keep an eye on the children, to make sure they didn't spill anything on their clothing.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home in Brooklyn, behind locked doors, the alarm on so he didn't have to worry about someone coming up behind him. He wanted quiet, not the clashing mix of loud voices and music. He wanted to take off his arm and put on his old clothes and sit on his own couch, not sit on some rich man's furniture while his skin crawled.

The scars on his left arm stump were itching, like there were bugs crawling under his skin and he _knew_ that wasn't so, knew it was the old nerve endings firing off. He hadn't had this reaction in years and he hated it, hated being distracted while he had to keep an eye out for threats, for some stranger going to walk up behind him, distract him while he had to keep an eye on the children.

The air tasted thin, like it had back in Afghanistan. Not enough oxygen; his heart in his throat and not enough _air_. James loosened his tie, but it didn't help. Nothing could help, he needed to get out of there, but he couldn't leave, he had to stay on guard for the children.

Steve was coming. James sat up as Steve stopped by the table, carrying two bottles of beer. "You don't have a drink," Steve was saying, holding out a bottle and smiling.

For a moment, James stared at the bottle. "No, thanks," he said when he found his voice. It was hard to speak over the ache in his throat. "Can you watch the kids for a few minutes?"

"Sure, of course," Steve said. He put the beer on a side table away from the kids. "Everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" James asked, standing. The ground felt spongy under his feet. "Natasha, stay with Steve."

Natasha, chewing blissfully on her orange slice, nodded.

James turned. The main door was on the other side of all the people, and he had to make it past them all to get out. Putting one foot in front of the other, he skirted Pepper and Rhodey, nodded at Jane as the woman said something incomprehensible to his ears, and made it through the door without breaking into a run or screaming.

The hallway was empty. James made it into the bathroom at the end of the hall and locked the door behind him before he started to shake. The air was still thin, and the itching of his arm inside the prosthetic's socket was getting worse. First yanking off his tie, James undid the top two buttons on his shirt before pulling it off over his head. One of the cuff buttons popped off as he yanked the shirt off his right hand, stuck on the metal arm's wrist. He clawed at the straps across his chest, scratching a gouge in his skin in his haste to be rid of the arm. Finally, the clasps popped open and James could pull the prosthetic off his body.

He put the thing on the counter, wishing mightily that he had never accepted the VA's offer to be part of the prosthetic test project. His arm still itched like there was something under the skin, but he knew there was nothing causing it, just his defective brain misfiring.

James slumped to the floor, his back against the door. He wrapped his right hand around the remains of his left arm and waited for the shaking to stop.

It took a while.

Finally, when James could breathe again, he hauled himself to his feet. The scratch across his chest hurt, but at least he hadn't drawn blood. Avoiding looking at his reflection, James put his prosthetic arm back on, then donned his shirt and tie. The fallen button he put in his pocket to fix when he got home.

He did look in the mirror once, to make sure he was presentable. He looked paler than he should under his tan, but his face betrayed no sign of his humiliating breakdown. Taking a breath, James unlocked the door and stepped back into the corridor.

He knew he had to go back into the room, but the noise pulsed out of the door, an almost tangible wall keeping him in the hallway. Instead, James walked to the end of the hall to the large window, where he could look out onto the growing darkness. Lanterns decorated the path down to the pool, where the dolphin fountain spurted water amid tiny lights.

James leaned against the wall. He was tired, he ached, he wanted to go home. He didn't want to go back into that room, where strangers knew everything about him. He wanted to take his little girl and go somewhere safe.

A throat cleared. James looked over his shoulder to see Rhodey standing several feet away, holding a mug. "Colonel," James said, straightening his shoulders as he turned around.

"Rhodey," the man corrected. He stepped forward, holding out the mug. "Coffee?"

"Thanks." James took the mug, sniffing its contents before taking a cautious sip. No alcohol in this one. The liquid itself was tepid, but it was coffee, and that was good.

Rhodey leaned against the wall on the other side of the window. "We crossed paths back in oh-three," he said. "In Ghazni."

James thought back. In 2003, his team had been working further south, but he had gone up to Ghazni twice, once when there had been Air Force involvement. It had been a long time ago. "You in Afghanistan long?"

"A while." Rhodey looked out the window. "You?"

As James sipped at the lukewarm coffee, he and Rhodey talked about their service records, and about the general banalities of war. Rhodey hadn't spent as much time in Iraq as James had, and had been stationed stateside since he'd been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel.

As they talked, some the tension started to ease out of James' spine. He hadn't had much chance to talk shop with another military man in quite some time; even those spare meetings he had with Nick Fury had tended to focus on Natasha and child-rearing.

Also, it was nice to talk to someone in this town who wasn't staring at him like he was a lab rat or a criminal.

And as if the thought had summoned her, Jan came out of the room, leading Natasha by the hand. "Look, there he is," Jan said, pointing at James.

"Hi, Daddy!" Natasha exclaimed, letting go of Jan's hand to run over to him. "You were gone a long time."

"I was talking to Colonel Rhodes," James said, putting the mug on the windowsill before picking Natasha up. Her weight pulled on the prosthetic arm, causing the strap to press hard against the scratch on his chest, but James didn't react. "He's in the Air Force."

"My dad was in the Rangers," Natasha informed Rhodey. "He jumped out of airplanes."

"Rangers will do that," Rhodey said gravely. "What's up, Jan?"

"Thor has an announcement," the woman said, making air quotes around the last word.

"Thank god, I thought we'd never get to it," Rhodey said. "You coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute," James said. Once Rhodey and Jan had walked away, James said, "Okay, I need a hug."

Natasha obliged, wrapping her arms around James' neck. "This is a fun party, Daddy. Pepper likes my dress."

"Good." James took a deep breath, trying to get up the courage to go back in the room. "I'm glad you're having so much fun."

"Uh huh." Natasha yawned in his ear. "I'm going to stay up forever."

"Let's see if you can make it to ten o'clock first." James kissed Natasha's hair. "Do you want down?"

"No, up."

"All right." Girding himself, James walked down the hall and back into the room, where an expectant hush had fallen. Thor and Jane were standing by the large windows, looking excited as their friends gathered around. Clint was sitting on Steve's shoulders, holding onto his hair. James quietly ducked in behind Jan and Rhodey.

"Friends," Thor said, "My Jane and I have news, and it is with great cheer that we can share this news with you here."

"They're engaged," Jan said in a whisper to Rhodey.

"Bet she's pregnant," Rhodey whispered back.

Jane squeezed Thor's hand, beaming up at him. "It's like this," she said, and took a deep breath. "Thor and I got married last week."

The room erupted into exclamations and congratulations, with the loud squeal coming from Darcy as she flung herself at Jane. "You didn't tell me!" Darcy exclaimed, squeezing Jane in a bear hug. "How didn't you tell me?"

Natasha poked James' cheek. "Daddy, they got married," she said in his ear.

"Yes, they did."

"Did they have a cake?"

"They might have."

"When I get married, I'm going to have a cake all to _myself_."

"That is a good goal." James carried Natasha over to the knot of people. He didn't know Jane or Thor, but he could act like a civilized human being. When there was a break in the people slapping Thor on the back, James gave the man a smile and said, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Thor said, beaming.

"Why'd you elope?" Jan asked, looking especially short standing next to Thor.

"My father would not approve of a state ceremony, so we decided to have no delay," Thor said.

Natasha perked up. "Why'd your dad say that?" she asked.

"My Jane is not of royal birth."

"Are you?" Natasha asked, her eyes going wide.

"Thor is the crown prince of Denmark," James said, bouncing Natasha on his arm. "Remember Maria went on vacation to Denmark last year?"

Natasha had no time for Maria's vacations. Her little brain had been working overtime to add the clues up, and James knew the moment the penny dropped, because Natasha burst out, "Are you a princess now? Do I call you princess?"

Jane blushed. "I'm still Dr. Foster," she said.

If anything, Natasha's eyes grew wider. "A princess doctor," she breathed. " _Wow_."

The tinkling of a spoon against crystal drew everyone's attention. Tony was standing on a chair. "All right, so congratulations to Thor and Jane. I didn't know what was going on, but it was either this or Jane won the Nobel Prize, so there's cake. Also champagne."

"There's always champagne at your parties, Tony," Jan called.

"My life is a celebration," Tony deadpanned. "Okay, someone pour!"

Corks popped, Lucy wheeled in a large cake, and the celebrating continued. James accepted a champagne flute from Bruce and took part in the toast to Thor and Jane. Natasha demanded a sip, so James let her taste the sparkling wine. Natasha made a face at the taste, declaring that grown-ups were so _weird_.

James took his glass and child over to the couch, where Natasha sleepily ate her slice of cake. Clint joined them after a while, putting his empty cake plate on the table before climbing onto James' lap. The boy let out a burp as he settled against James' chest.

"Clint."

"Sorry." Clint took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "I'm full."

"You have had a lot to eat today," James agreed. Natasha put her plate on the table, and climbed onto James' free leg. "You too, Nat."

"Uh huh." Natasha squeezed against Clint, resting her head on his shoulder. "I like parties."

"Good." James glanced at the clock. It was just past ten. "But I think that we should get you two to bed before you turn into pumpkins."

"I'm not a pumpkin," Natasha objected.

"I'll be a pumpkin," Clint said as he patted his belly. "I like pumpkin."

Steve detached himself from the crowd to come over to join James on the couch. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room and whatever he'd been drinking. "How is everyone?" he asked, putting his arm on the couch back, just above James' shoulders and leaning into James' personal space. Great, James thought sourly. Steve was a handsy drunk. "Is it time to go?"

"I should get the kids back to bed," James said. "They've had a lot of excitement today."

"I'm not tired," Natasha protested, fighting to open her eyes. "I wanna stay at the party."

"Up you get," James said. "Time to say our goodbyes."

"I'll go with you," Steve said, but there was disappointment on his face.

"Stay," James said, a bit more sharply than he should have. "They're your friends, stay and celebrate. I'll get the kids to bed and keep an eye on them. It'll give me time to start packing up."

"I wanted you to enjoy the party too," Steve said. "Next time, we'll get a sitter for the kids."

There were a number of torments to which James would willingly submit himself rather than attend another one of Tony Stark's parties, but that was his own business. "Come on, kids, let's thank everyone for the party."

Saying goodbye took a while. As Clint clung sleepily to Bruce Banner, James noticed that Natasha was circling Tony Stark, like a cat circles an unfamiliar dog. The man was pretending he hadn't noticed the five-year-old glaring at him. Finally, Natasha stopped directly in front of Tony and planted her mary-janes on the carpet. "Do you like my dress?" she asked, almost a challenge.

Tony focused on the girl. "It's very green."

"It's supposed to be green."

"Then you win at life."

Natasha put her hands behind her back and swayed as she stared at Tony. "Why are you so grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy, I'm sneezey," Tony said. Natasha did not smile.

"You have a nice house and a nice Lucy, you should be happy," she declared, then turned and ran for cover behind James' legs.

James patted Natasha's hair reassuringly as he turned to Tony. He hadn't said a word to the man all night and didn't want to, but he could at least suck it up for the niceties. "Thanks for letting us stay here this week," James said. There, perfectly reasonable and civilized.

Tony shrugged, nearly sloshing his drink all over the carpet. "Steve asked."

And James was done. If Tony Stark called on Monday and said he wanted his metal arm back, he could bloody well have it. Taking Natasha and Clint by the hands, he guided the children out of the room and into the hall. "Let's go back to the beach house," he said. It's bedtime."

"I'm not sleepy!" Natasha protested again.

Clint yawned so widely that he nearly fell over. "Where's my dad?"

"Your dad's going to stay here for a little bit longer, then he'll come home." They were at the front door now. James knelt down to make sure that everyone's shoes were tied for the walk down the gravel path. "Remember to hold my hands, okay?"

"Okay."

"Yes, Daddy."

The front door opened and closed easily under James' hand. Out in the warm night, James walked with the children down the gravel path to the small guest house, the swish-crash of the waves the loudest sound in the night. Clint swung James' hand, but Natasha crowded close to James.

"Daddy, are there monsters?"

"There are no monsters," James said, squeezing Natasha's hand.

"What about wolves?"

"There are no wolves."

"What about rabbits?" Clint chimed in.

"I haven't seen any rabbits," James said. "Look, there are the lights in the kitchen, we're almost there."

Once inside the house, James got the kids upstairs, changed into their pajamas, and then made them brush their teeth before bed. With all the sugar they had eaten that day, he didn't want to risk cavities.

The party had left the children with lingering jitters, so James tucked them into their beds with their stuffed animals and re-read their favourite chapters of the first Harry Potter book. He tried to make his voice as boring as possible, but it still took forever for the children to fall asleep.

James closed the book, tiptoed out of the room and closed the door. He was completely, utterly exhausted. But his work wasn't done yet. They were leaving the next day, and in the course of a week, everyone's stuff had spread across every inch of the house.

Taking a moment to remove his tie, James got to work. It wasn't like he was going to bed before Steve got back, in any event.

At around midnight, Steve wasn't back, and the stillness of the house and the press of the darkness outside was making James skittish. He paused to drink a glass of water, then got back to work. The fridge was nearly empty, with all the meat cooked and eaten, and just enough left for eggs and pancakes the following morning. They could get lunch in town on their way to the freeway.

James closed the fridge door, and went to empty the dishwasher.

It was close to one o'clock when Steve stumbled in. James could hear him fumbling with the front door, and was coming down the stairs when Steve finally got the door open. Steve spotted James, and beamed up at him. "Hi!" he said in a stage whisper. "Kids sleeping?"

"Finally, yes," James said. He brushed past Steve to close the door the man had left open. "Everyone partied out?"

"No, they'll go for a few more hours." Steve slapped James on the back, wavered as if he was about to lose his balance, then regained his sea legs. "Thought I'd come back, though. It wasn't fun without you there."

"I'm no good at parties, I told you that," James said, putting an arm around Steve to help him over to the counter. Steve was hammered, that much would have been obvious to anyone. "Let's get you some water."

"I need to take a piss," Steve said abruptly, and made a beeline for the bathroom. James poured a glass of water and left it by the side of the sink, then leaned on the counter to wait for Steve to get back.

He was so tired, but already the familiar itch of dark shapes just out of reach was warning James that it might be a bad night. The next day, he'd need to be up early to get the kids ready to go, then to drive back into town. He hoped that Natasha would want to go to bed early, so he could also crash early. He had a lot to do in the coming week, back at work and with so many busy projects on the go. He didn't have time to have a bad night.

James rubbed his hand over his face. He just wanted Steve to go to bed so James could figure out how the hell he was going to sleep.

Behind the bathroom door, the toilet flushed, water sounded in the sink, and Steve was muttering something to himself. James pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. Part of him was wishing that he had taken Natasha and driven home earlier that night. It would be so much easier to fall apart at home, behind his locked door, when he knew that Natasha was safe.

The bathroom door opened and Steve came out. He was walking steadier now as he joined James at the counter. "Fuck."

"You going to live?"

"Yeah." Steve shook his head. "I'm out of practice."

James, who had never seen Steve drink more than one glass of wine around the kids, shrugged. "Get some sleep, you'll be fine tomorrow." He pushed the water towards Steve. "Drink up."

Steve looked at the glass, then at James, then back at the glass. "You always take good care of us," he said fondly.

"You don't need taking care of," James contradicted. "Just sometimes, you know, a little something."

"I don't know what we'd do without you." Steve knocked back the water. "It's just, it's so great having you in our lives, Bucky."

Not sure what to do, James took the water glass from Steve and put it in the sink. "Same with you," he said, then winced. How cheesy was that?

But Steve was too far gone to be paying much attention to James' prose. "I mean, all those years and I missed you so much, and now…" He leaned into James' side, his arm going around James to brace himself against the counter. The warmth of the man, the smell of his aftershave and the not-unpleasant tang of sweat from a long party in a hot room, tripped up the words James had planned to say. Steve had never been so close and so completely far away.

"I'm right here," James reminded Steve, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

Steve stared at him for a long moment, hardly breathing. James knew he should go, get ready for bed and for the long day ahead, but Steve's arm was around his back and James never wanted to move.

"I'm glad," Steve whispered, and he leaned in towards James. Wildly, James thought this was the point where Steve passed out on his shoulder and was already bracing to take his weight when Steve dipped his head and kissed James on the mouth.

It took James' brain a second to figure out what was really happening, that this wasn't an accident, that this was Steve kissing him, drunk Steve, _straight_ Steve, and that pulled James out of things. Jerking away from Steve so fast that the man stumbled, James backed away until he collided with the table. It was hard to think over the roaring in his head.

"Bucky—"

"It's fine," James said quickly, moving around the table so it was between him and Steve. His heart was beating so fast that his vision was blurring around the edges. "You're drunk, it's no big deal, it happens."

"Bucky, wait—"

"You should get some sleep," James went on, gripping the chair back so hard that pain stabbed through his hand. "Sleep it off, and we can forget about it."

"But—" Steve took a step toward James, and something in James' head snapped. He had to get out of there, had to get away from Steve, from everything.

"Watch the kids, I'm going outside." James edged toward the door, never turning his back.

Steve, who either didn't understand or didn't _care_ , tried to follow. "Bucky, _wait_ , I need to—"

"There's nothing to talk about, Steve." James had his hand on the doorknob now. If James had to listen to Steve explain how it was a mistake, he was drunk, he was straight… James didn't know if he could survive hearing that. "Not now, not _ever_."

Pulling the door open, James escaped into the darkness. Steve didn't follow him.

It only took a few minutes to get down to the water. James was breathing hard as he stood with his toes in the surf. There was too much noise in his head. He'd have been able to handle it if it had just been the party, or Tony Stark, but then Steve had to go and get drunk and kiss him.

It was just some drunken fuck-up, James knew with every fiber of his being. Steve was straight, and had been celebrating, and he just got confused. Once he sobered up, he'd probably pull out the _no homo_ card so fast it would give James whiplash. Then he'd start making excuses about not hanging around with James anymore, and that would be the last James would see of Steve Rogers.

Fine, James thought bitterly. So be it. He made his way to a spot of dry sand and sat, staring out onto the water. The half-moon hung in the sky, casting watery light onto the beach, a slight breeze blowing in off the water. James hated everything about it. He wanted to go back in time to the start of that evening, where he could have just taken Natasha home and then none of _this_ , this mess churning in his head about unwanted kisses from drunken men, would ever have happened.

Curling in on himself against the breeze, James looked out at the inky sea. Why did Steve have to go and mess everything up? Steve was supposed to be better than this. Steve was supposed to have been _safe_.


	20. Black Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Black Coffee – Duke Pearson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SxDE1cNRX9Q)

* * *

James sat on the beach for a long time, long after the evening's chill soaked into his bones. Finally, he stood, joints creaking, and walked back up to the guest house in the dark.

He prayed that Steve had gone to bed; he wasn't sure he could handle talking to the man right now. But Steve had fallen asleep on the couch, still dressed. James stood looking at Steve for a few minutes, at the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Before, James would have enjoyed the sight of Steve Rogers resting peacefully. Now, he just felt cold.

Taking care to move silently, James closed and locked the door, then headed up to the loft. The children were sound asleep in their bedroom. Closing their door halfway, James went to sit on the couch, sinking onto its soft surface with a groan. He was too _old_ for this shit.

He lay down, staring up at the dim ceiling overhead. Why had Steve gone and ruined everything? Even when the man sobered up and made his excuses, James wasn't going to be able to forget.

James checked the time on his phone. Almost three. He had to get up in a few hours, pack up the kids, head back to Brooklyn. He could drive fine on a few hours' sleep, one of the holdouts from his Army days. So he would sleep, then the next morning he would pack the kids' stuff up, toss everyone in the jeep, then drive back to Brooklyn.

Only that meant sitting beside Steve in the jeep for two hours.

James closed his eyes, turning his face into his pillow. It didn't matter. He could sit next to Steve; the man wasn't about to molest him in a moving vehicle with their kids in the backseat. If anything, Steve would ignore James as much as he could, a reminder of his stupidity the night before.

And James would make that easy for Steve. He wasn't about to wait for Steve to push him away. It was like a band-aid; far less painful if ripped off quickly.

Fine. James could do this. He could cut Steve out of his life. It didn't matter how much James had been in love with him, or how much James had wanted a friend in his life. James was used to being alone. He'd done it before, and he could do it again.

In all his life, _alone_ was the safest James had ever been.

* * *

Something was wrong. James clawed his way out of a deep sleep, knowing something was _wrong_. Blinking gritty eyes, he tried to sit up, to discern the danger before fully awake. What was it?

Everything was silent. The loft was bright with the morning sun, and there was no noise in the house.

Natasha. James staggered to his feet. Where was Natasha?

He made it to the bedroom door before he even realized he was moving. The children's beds were rumpled and empty, and Bear lay abandoned in the middle of the floor.

James' head swam with panic. "Nat?" he shouted, barrelling back into the loft. "Natasha!"

He leaned over the loft railing, looking down into the empty kitchen. On the table lay a piece of folded paper with _Bucky_ written in large block letters.

James flew down the stairs, grabbing at the note.

> _I took the kids swimming. We had breakfast so eat whatever you want and we'll pack up the rest to take home._
> 
> _Steve_

Relief turned James' knees to jelly as he collapsed onto a chair. His little girl was safe; strangers hadn't come in the night and taken her away. She was safe.

Scrubbing at his face with his right hand, James took in more of his surroundings. Breakfast dishes were piled in the sink, and the belongings James had neatly stacked the night before had been moved closer to the door. The clock on the microwave read just after nine, which made James do a double-take. How had he slept so long, and through the children's morning routine? They were usually loud enough to wake the dead in the morning.

James stood up. He hadn't removed his prosthetic the night before, and the straps chafed as he moved the arm. He thought about keeping the thing on anyway, but then decided that he didn't have to prove anything to anyone. He'd lost his arm at war, not his mind, and if anyone thought differently, well, James would demonstrate how wrong they were.

There was a lingering nag in the back of his mind, about needing to check on Natasha, so James walked out of the house and along the path to the point where the lawn rose so he could see the pool. There, splashing around in the waterfall, were Clint and Natasha. James could make out Steve sitting on the edge of the pool, hunched over.

Maliciously, James hoped the man had a hangover.

Without drawing attention to himself, James headed back to the house. If it was so late in the morning, then he should get moving to pack everything up for the drive back home. He wanted to get on the road before one, before all the weekend trippers turned their cars back toward the city. And getting packed would be made much easier without the 'help' from Natasha or Clint.

First, James went upstairs and into the bathroom. Avoiding his reflection, he stripped down, removed his arm and left that on the counter. He showered quickly. The night before was starting to feel like a distant nightmare; all those people and noise, Tony Stark staring at him like he was some sort of lab rat; Steve's drunken kiss.

James' guts clenched unpleasantly at the memory of that kiss. No, not the kiss itself; the memory of what could have happened next. And that memory, for all that it was seventeen years distant, was still vivid in James' mind.

James ducked his head under the shower's spray. He had to get his head on straight, and to keep that memory back in the past where it belonged. What Steve had done was just a drunken kiss. He'd stopped when James pulled away and he'd never tried anything like that before. Steve wasn't _anything_ like the man who'd done those things to James, so many years ago.

James was wasting time. He had work to do, and hiding in the shower feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get the job done.

Turning the water on cold, James scrubbed himself clean, then stepped out of the shower. He dried himself and wrapped a towel around his hips before carrying his arm and dirty clothes out onto the landing. The house was still empty, so James dressed quickly and started his one-handed packing.

The sounds of the children's excited chattering drifted in the open doors almost two hours later. James looked up from where he was setting plates on the table to see Clint and Natasha, both with beach towels draped over their shoulders, skipping into the house. "Daddy!" Natasha squealed. "You're awake! Steve told us to be quiet because you were sleeping and not to wake you up!"

"You did that real well." James knelt down and was nearly bowled over by an armful of excited, damp five-year-old. "Did you have a good swim!"

"Yes!" Natasha said, kissing James on the cheek. "Daddy, can we stay here forever?"

"Nope." James gave Natasha a one-armed hug, then stood. "We have to go back to the city because I have work and you're going to see Skye tomorrow morning."

"Skye is _cool_ ," Clint put in, shucking off his towel as he climbed up on a kitchen chair. "Is this lunch? Can we eat lunch?"

"That's why it's there." James caught sight of Steve coming in the house. "Unless your father has other plans."

Steve blinked at James. The man looked much as he had the previous day in his swimsuit, although maybe James was imagining the circles under his eyes. "Can we talk?" he asked.

James half-turned to the table to help Natasha settle into her own chair. He didn't want to have this fight with Steve here, not when they had a two-hour drive ahead of them back to the city. "Not now," James said. "Either eat or go pack, we don't got a lot of time."

Steve did not move. "Until what?" There was a sharp edge to his voice that James hadn't heard before.

"Gotta drive back to the city, remember?" James went over to the counter to get the milk, turning his left side to Steve. He was wearing a t-shirt and his left arm stump was showing through the fabric. Sleeping on the metal arm had left a red irritated patch on his skin, but James wasn't going to hide that from Steve. It was his goddamned arm, and not any of Steve's business. "I want to be on the road before one."

"I need more peanut butter," Clint put in, opening the bread of his sandwich. "Daddy makes it better."

James poured milk into the glasses set before the children. "That was the last of the peanut butter," he told Clint. "Do you want more jam or more butter?"

Clint slumped back in his chair, pouting. "I want _peanut butter_ ," he repeated.

James took the milk back to the counter, reached into the cooler sitting beside the fridge, and pulled out the strawberry jam. "Put more jam on both sides," he suggested.

Natasha, who was chewing her way through a cheese and jam sandwich, stuck out her tongue at Clint.

"Natasha, manners," James said. He picked up the milk carton, drained the last of the milk into his coffee mug, then tossed the carton in the garbage. When he turned around, it was to see Steve walking up the stairs to the loft. Whatever, James thought sourly. Steve was acting just like James had thought he was going to; stand-offish and withdrawn. James didn't care.

"I wanna stay here and live with Uncle Tony," Clint whined, as he dug a spoon around in the jam jar. "I wanna play in the pool and shoot arrows and have parties _always._ "

"You can't have parties _always_ ," Natasha pointed out. "If you did, then parties would be boring."

"And your Uncle Tony doesn't even live here all the time," James said, wincing as Clint spread a few tablespoons of jam onto his bread. "You'd be a bit lonely."

"Natasha can stay too." Satisfied by the amount of jam on his bread, Clint picked it up and took a huge bite. Red jam oozed off the bread and onto the plate, sending Natasha into a giggle-fit.

Upstairs, the shower turned on. James rubbed his temples against the headache threatening his brain. "All right, lunch then bath time, then you two need to pack your stuff. Hurry up."

So this was going to be his life today; Steve ignoring him, the children acting up.

James bitterly wished he had never come on this vacation with Steve.

* * *

Miraculously, the children didn't cause too much trouble. They ate, James took them upstairs for one last bath in the huge bathtub (Steve having vanished into his bedroom to pack), then he instructed them to pack all their things and carry them downstairs to put them in the car.

James, who had already stowed as much as he could in the jeep, was in the kitchen when the _tap-tap_ came at the door. It was Lucy, dressed in her Sunday best. "Good morning," she said, stepping inside. She carried a large brown paper bag.

"Hey," James said, wiping his hand on his jeans. "Good morning, I mean. Would you come in?"

Lucy came in as far as the kitchen table, but she wouldn't stay for a cup of coffee. "I'm taking Dad into town for the late Sunday service," she explained. "I just wanted to stop in to say goodbye. And to bring you some snacks for the road." She put the paper bag on the table.

"Thanks," James said. "Hang on a minute, I'll get the kids."

Shouting for the children, James stood back out of the way as Clint and Natasha barrelled down the stairs and ran to Lucy. "Lucy! We're leaving today!" Natasha shouted, while Clint bounced around with his arms out. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, dear children," Lucy said, kneeling down for hugs. "It's been so lovely having you here."

"Can we come back?" Clint asked, leaning against Lucy's shoulder. "And play in the pool?"

"Your father will have to take that up with Tony, but I'll always welcome you here," Lucy said, taking Clint's hand and giving it a squeeze. "And you know what?"

The children shook their heads.

Lucy took Natasha's outstretched hand. "My father wanted me to wish you both a very good summer, and a very good time in school," she said as Steve started down the stairs.

"I will do it," Natasha vowed solemnly. "Bye-bye."

"Me too." Clint rubbed his nose. "Bye, and thanks for the cake."

Lucy smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You're quite welcome." She stood as the children headed back up the stairs. "It's been a joy, having young ones around the house again."

"I can't thank you enough for all you've done," Steve said, reaching out to shake Lucy's hand. "Is there anything we need to do with the place?"

Lucy waved his question away. "Leave everything as it is, I have the maids coming in this afternoon to tidy everything up. Thor and Jane will be staying here for a few days as a bit of a honeymoon before she has to go back to the university."

"Then we'll be sure to get out of here soon," James said. Steve shot him a glare, but said nothing. "Thanks again for everything. And for the food."

Footsteps on the stairs announced Natasha's return. She ran up to Lucy, brandishing a sand-smoothed rock. "Can I take this home with me?" Natasha asked breathlessly. "I found it in the sand."

"Of course you can," Lucy said. "Is it a special rock?"

"It's my memory rock," Natasha explained. "When I look at the rock, I will remember to remember."

"What a good idea." Lucy patted Natasha on the head, and then with one last cheerful farewell, left.

Steve was staring at James, but James didn't have time for this. "Nat," James said, "Go put that rock in the suitcase so it doesn't get lost on the way home, okay?"

"Okay!" Natasha ran back up the stairs.

In the resulting quiet, Steve leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. "Bucky."

James went over to the bags by the door. "I've got all the games and art stuff and books ready to go in the jeep," he said without looking at Steve. "Cooler's packed. Lucy brought snacks, can you run those out to the jeep?"

"Why won't you talk to me?"

James' hand stilled. It took him a moment to speak, and when he did, he was distantly glad that his voice didn't shake. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Bucky, I need to apologize—"

"No," James interrupted sharply. "You don't." Taking a deep breath, he stood up to face Steve. "You don't need to apologize, you don't need to talk about it. Just pretend it never happened."

"Pretend it didn't happen," Steve repeated. It must have been a trick of the light in the house, but Steve looked pale. "Is that what you're doing?"

"Yeah, it is," James snapped. "I'm going to put this stuff in the car."

And, without waiting to see if Steve had anything else to say, James hefted the bags containing the week's detritus and carried them outside. The jeep's back hatch was open, so James dropped the bags in a corner. One of the bags tipped over, spilling books out onto the floor. James stared down at the battered cover of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ , and out of nowhere, a lump rose in his throat and his eyes stung with sudden tears.

How was he going to forget? Not the drunken kiss; a few hours of sleep and some physical distance had helped James put the event into a box in his mind. In a few days, he might even be able to forget that it had happened for a few minutes at a time.

No, it was the rest of it. Finding Steve again by pure chance in the grocery store parking lot, spending time with him, all the time falling in love with his best friend. For the first time in so long, James hadn't felt so alone.

James didn't know how he was going to be able to push those memories away, but he had to. Just like he had to push Steve away. It would hurt if he had to do it, but waiting for Steve to push James away would be devastating.

Because Steve was straight, and he had been drunk, and he had made a stupid mistake. James had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now everything was ruined.

"Daddy, can I put Bear in the car?" Natasha's voice came from behind him.

James quickly wiped his eyes and set about tidying up the books. "Yeah, sweet pea, put him in your booster seat so he doesn't get lost," he said.

If his voice shook a little, Natasha didn't appear to hear. "Okay, I did it!" she announced, then her footsteps sounded on the gravel as she ran back into the house, leaving James alone.

James took a few calming breaths around the lump in his throat. He needed to get his shit together. Guys like him always ended up alone, he knew that. Every book and every movie that had gay guys in them, that guy always ended up the villain, alone, or dead. Guys like him never got a happy ending.

He'd been a stupid fool to ever wish for anything else.

He took a deep breath. Fine. He could do this. He would get everyone back to the city and take his little girl home, and just do what he needed to do. He had Natasha, a good job, a good house. He had everything he needed to keep Natasha safe, and that was the only thing that mattered.

The only thing.

* * *

The drive back to New York was painful. Steve sat in the passenger seat and didn't even look at James, spending his time staring out the window, texting on his phone, or turned around to help the children with their snack or in playing their games.

James drove one-handed, his metal arm packed away safely in the suitcase for the return voyage. His ribs ached from the straps, and the raw spot on his arm was worryingly tender. But he could drive one-handed with ease; before he'd gotten Stark's metal arm, he had never been able to use his prosthetic arm for driving. That was why he'd spent so much on the modifications to the jeep.

After a few rousing rounds from the backseat of _Eye Spy_ , the children demanded that Steve play the highlights from their favourite audiobooks. James focused on the road, tuning out the stories and the commentary from the children to their stuffed animals. He was on the freeway now, and all he had to do was to drive west until he hit Brooklyn, then duck south to drop Steve and Clint at their front door.

This plan hit a snag about an hour into their journey, when Natasha started yelling that she had to pee. James pulled off the freeway before the girl had an accident, and stayed in the jeep as Steve took both Clint and Natasha into the coffee shop.

When the three of them returned ten minutes later, Clint and Natasha each held a small cup, while Steve got in with two large coffees. James watched as Steve put the cups in the cup holders, then went back to make sure the children were properly secured for driving. When the kids were in place, Steve got in and did up his seatbelt. "I got you a coffee," Steve said quietly, not looking at James.

Gritting his teeth, James started the engine. "I can't drink that when I'm driving," he said, looking over his shoulder as he steered the car out into the flow of traffic.

There was silence from Steve's side of the car for a long moment. "Then don't," he said finally, turning his head to stare outside the passenger window once more.

James clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. Why was Steve being so passive-aggressive? Any idiot would know that a one-armed driver wouldn't be able to take his hand off the wheel to casually sip coffee on the expressway.

"Daddy, I got a hot chocolate," Natasha said from the backseat. "I like hot chocolate."

"Me too!" Clint exclaimed. He slurped noisily. "It's my favourite. After popsicles. And apple juice."

"I like ice cream best, then," Natasha decided. "Daddy, what do you like best?"

James' headache stabbed into his temple, and he had to make himself unclench his jaw. "I like coffee, Natasha, you know that," he said.

"And Steve makes the best coffee!" Natasha cheered. Her young voice, so high-pitched, pierced into his brain and it was only with the greatest of effort that James did not snap at her.

"That's right," James said instead, keeping his voice flat and uninterested. "Steve does make good coffee."

Steve had gone back to texting on his phone and was ignoring this byplay.

In the backseat, the children started singing some irritating Disney song, and James gripped the knob on the steering wheel hard. Forty miles to Steve's house.

* * *

James had never been so happy to pull the jeep to a stop as when he pulled into the loading zone in front of Steve's building. He put the transmission in park and engaged the emergency brake. "Here."

Steve put his phone into his pocket. "That's it?"

James swung around to look at Steve. "What do you want, me to carry your stuff inside?" he snapped.

Steve narrowed his eyes, then undid his seatbelt and got out of the jeep. "Come on, Clint," he said as he opened the jeep's back door. "Time to go upstairs."

"Okay." James, watching in the rear-view mirror, saw Clint lean over to pat Natasha on the back of the hand. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yes!" Natasha exclaimed. "Tomorrow!"

"Don't tell Skye anything," Clint admonished. "Wait for me, I wanna tell her too."

"I won't!"

Clint shoved Floppy into the waistband of his shorts for safekeeping, then climbed out. James waited as Steve unloaded items from the back of the jeep out onto the sidewalk. As soon as Steve closed the jeep's hatch, James put his hand on the parking brake. But he couldn't make himself release it; not until he saw Clint inside the building, safe from any accidents.

Steve came over to close the jeep's back door. "Thanks for the ride home," Steve said, and James had never heard him sound so sarcastic.

He couldn't deal with this. His body was taught with the strain from driving, his head hurt, and he wanted to be _home_. "Can you shut the damned door?" was all James said.

Silence, then the jeep door slammed. Glancing over at the sidewalk, James could see Clint standing patiently by the apartment's entrance, and the bulk of his father was moving in that direction. James disengaged the parking break, put the car in drive, and turned out into traffic.

The drive across Brooklyn on a Sunday afternoon was, as expected, horrible. The only bright spot for James was that Natasha fell asleep as they were passing the cemetery, so James didn't have to figure out how to talk to his daughter when everything hurt so damned much.

* * *

Finally, James pulled the jeep into a spot outside the house. He turned the engine off and for a long time, just sat. It had been a very long time since he felt this tired. It was deeper than a lack of sleep; his body ached like those first months out of the hospital after the explosion. Part of him wanted to curl up in a blanket and lie in bed for a week straight.

"Mmmph."

And that was why he couldn't. James turned around to look at Natasha, who was just waking up from her doze. Her cheeks were flushed and she rubbed at her eyes as she blinked sleepily at her father. "Hey, Natasha. We're home."

"Hrmph." Natasha closed her eyes again.

James smiled faintly. "Do you want to go inside and go back to sleep?"

Natasha nodded without opening her eyes.

James thought about the logistics. Without his prosthetic arm, he couldn't carry Natasha and unlock the door at the same time. He didn't want to leave her in the car while he ran up to unlock the house; too many horror stories of children snatched away in car-jackings. It was unlikely in Brooklyn Heights, but James couldn't risk his daughter's safety on a statistical impossibility.

He sighed. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. "All right, Nat," he said, getting out of the jeep. "You have to walk, you're too big for me to carry."

Natasha made cranky noises as James got her out of her booster seat. She buried her face in Bear's fur as they walked up the steps, James needing to guide her so she wouldn't trip. The front door opened easily under his key, with the faint beeping of the alarm sounding from inside the house. James closed the outer door, opened the inner door with the other key, then quickly disarmed the house alarm with the seven-digit code. They were home.

Natasha ignored all this and made a beeline for the couch. She flopped down onto the cushions and curled up around Bear. James followed her, to make sure she was all right, but the girl was already relaxing again into sleep.

James brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, smiling down at his daughter. She'd had a busy week, and in spite of everything that James had been through, Natasha had had a great vacation.

Straightening his spine, James looked around. The house seemed to be in order; Skye's presence hadn't made much of an impact over the week.

Leaving the house door open, James unloaded the jeep in three quick trips. He hesitated beside the jeep on his fourth trip down; all the vehicle held now were the children's booster seats and the coffee Steve had bought him on the trip back. If Steve really was out of their lives, James should give the man back Clint's booster seat. But there was nowhere to store it in the house, and it would be just as easy to get it out of the jeep as dig it out of a cupboard the next day.

Taking the coffee cup out of the cup holder, James locked the jeep and went back into the house.

Natasha was still asleep, so James went into the kitchen. He poured the now-cold coffee down the sink and tossed the cup in the garbage. That part of his life, with Steve, was over. There was no use in sentimentalizing things now.

On the kitchen table, James spotted two folded notes, one addressed to him, and one to Natasha. James went over to pick up his note.

> _Hey Mr. B. It's Sunday morning and I'm heading home. Mail is in your office. I put in a load of laundry to the washer but I don't have time to stay to put it in the dryer so that's where that all is (sorry I have to meet someone). Also I'm pretty sure there's either a problem with the pipes on the third floor or else your house is haunted._
> 
> _See you tomorrow!_
> 
> _Skye_

"Damn," James muttered. He had hoped that the pipes in the third floor would last another few years, but if they were acting up in warm weather… Well, he'd been putting off renovations to the third floor for a few years, but if he had to get the plumbing done, he may as well start looking for a contractor. He still had connections in the industry in the city, he'd be able to find someone.

The sound of bare feet padding on the tiles made James look up. Natasha, still rumpled and flushed, stomped into the kitchen and climbed grumpily onto James' lap.

"Hey, sleepy head." James put his arm around Natasha. "You up?"

"I don't want to nap," Natasha muttered, wiggling around until she was comfortable. "I wanna go swimming."

"We can't go swimming today, it's Sunday." James kissed the top of Natasha's head. "We need to unpack all of our things, and do laundry, and make sure that everything's ship-shape for Monday."

Natasha exhaled noisily. "What's ship-shape?" she demanded, looking up at him.

James frowned theatrically. "That's a good question," he said. "I think it means that when you're on a ship, you don't have a lot of space, so you need to make sure that everything goes in its place."

"Oh." Natasha looked around the kitchen. "This is a house."

"Yes."

"We have lots of space."

"Yes, but we can still be tidy." James kissed Natasha's hair again, then pointed at the note on the table. "Look, Skye left you something."

All of Natasha's tiredness vanished as she spotted the note addressed to her. She reached for it, smoothing it open on the tabletop. With James' assistance in sounding out some of the words, she read it aloud.

> _Hi Natasha. I hope you had a fun week at the beach! All of your stuffed animals missed you, but I read them a story so they wouldn't be lonely. On Monday, I'll bring some new notebooks so we can make a memory book, so start thinking about all the things you'd like to draw from your vacation._

"Daddy, I have to start drawing now," Natasha said, jumping off his lap. "Before I forget."

James, never one to pass up an opportunity to get Natasha busy, said, "Let's go get you set up in the living room, okay?"

In a few minutes, Natasha was happily drawing scenes from her vacation on the construction paper James had been saving for a special occasion. Once he was sure she was engaged, James turned on a wildlife documentary to add some background noise, then started the laborious process of unpacking from a week away.

At around five, as James was in the basement putting in another load of laundry, his phone beeped with a new text message from Steve.

_There going to be any problem with me bringing Clint over a little bit early tomorrow?_

James looked at the message for a few seconds, then put his phone back in his pocket while he went back to sorting the clothes. He should have expected that; Skye was engaged to take care of the kids until school started, and Steve would be hard pressed to find new childcare arrangements for three weeks. Whatever was going on with Steve, it shouldn't be Clint's problem to deal with. The boy would have enough to deal with, starting a new school in the fall.

School. James' heart sank as he thought about exactly how much time he would have to spend with Steve. Clint and Natasha were in the same class at St. Ursula's, and Natasha was registered for a new round of swimming lessons in the fall at the same time as Clint. Unless James moved to Nebraska, he was bound to see Steve several times a week for months to come.

Well, then he would just have to cowboy up and deal with it.

James was careful with his reply to Steve. _We will be here. If you will be here before 7 call so I can get Natasha ready._

He read the message a few times, wondering if the correct punctuation was too sarcastic, then just hit send. He turned his phone to silent and pushed it into his back pocket. He had a lot to do, and he hadn't even thought about dinner.

When he went back upstairs, he found that the fridge was practically empty, aside from a few condiment bottles. Well, he had told Skye to eat anything she liked as part of the house-sitting arrangement. Idly opening cupboard doors, James found a box of dried pasta and a can of tuna. He made a face. "Nat!" he called, and the little girl came running.

"Daddy, I'm done coloring," she said, colliding with his leg. "I'm hungry."

"Me too." James handed Natasha the can of tuna. "Well, sweet pea, we can either go grocery shopping, or go out for dinner. What do you want to do?"

Natasha, who never in her short life had been handed this decision, fairly glowed up at her father. "Out!" she shouted.

"Sounds good." James put the tuna back in the cupboard. "Where do you want to go?"

Natasha considered. "Sushi," she declared after a minute.

"We haven't done that in a while," James agreed, holding out his hand to Natasha. "Let's get changed and head out, okay?"

As Natasha bounced up the stairs, James reflected that even though he was having problems with Steve, he still had this; a good job, a good house, and the world's best daughter. That was what mattered.

* * *

After an uneventful dinner, they came home and Natasha fell asleep easily, buried in amongst her stuffed animal collection. James did laundry and tidied until close to midnight. When finally he could hardly keep his eyes open, he went to bed, hoping for a quiet night.

He didn't wake yelling, but disquieting dreams followed him through the night, finally waking him at close to six. Bleary-eyed, he stumbled out of bed. Natasha was still asleep, although she had kicked all her animals to the floor in the night.

Yawning widely, James went into the bathroom. The welts from the prosthetic had faded overnight, but the tender spot on his arm remained. Maybe he'd just leave the arm on the charger that day, he decided. He was meeting Maria that afternoon, and other than some grocery shopping, he had no plans that would put him in the public eye.

Except seeing Steve.

James shook his head firmly. He wasn't going to worry about what Steve might think of him, not anymore.

Changing into his workout clothes, James spent half an hour on the treadmill, working himself into exhaustion. Then upstairs, where he showered, shaved and got dressed for the day before going to scavenge some breakfast.

Natasha stumbled down the stairs in her pajamas as James was taking the porridge off the stove. "Daddy, when's Clint coming here?" were her first words.

"The usual time, I guess," James said. "Sit down, time to eat."

Natasha made a face at the oatmeal, but brightened when James brought out the molasses sugar. James ate his own oatmeal with no sweetener. He'd let his diet get away from him while at the beach, but now it was time to get back to his regular routine.

James' phone beeped as Natasha was carrying her empty bowl to the sink. It was Skye, saying she'd be there shortly. There were no messages from Steve, which made James both relieved and apprehensive. Whatever happened to bringing Clint over early?

"Nat, go get dressed," James said, picking up his bowl. "Skye's on her way."

"Skye!" Natasha screeched, and ran for the stairs.

The woman arrived ten minutes later, and she and Natasha had a joyful reunion. James did the dishes while Natasha helped Skye unload her bag of new craft supplies, then when Natasha ran upstairs to get her memory rock, Skye stuck her head into the kitchen.

"Everything cool?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?" James asked, closing the dishwasher door.

"I got a weird text from Steve," Skye explained. "He wanted to make sure that everything was on as normal this morning."

James shrugged. "A week away," he said in explanation, not looking at Skye. "What did you tell him?"

"As far as I knew, things were same as always." Skye was still looking at him. "I was thinking crafts for a bit, then the park."

"Sure." James straightened the dish rag on its hook. "I have to go grocery shopping before I go meet Maria, so whatever."

It was at this moment that the doorbell rang.

"Clint!" came Natasha's distant yell. "Clint's here!"

"I'll go let them in," said Skye, moving in the direction of the front door. James stayed where he was, apprehension spreading along his limbs. He was going to see Steve again, and he wasn't really sure he could handle it.

From the living room came the sounds of Clint's arrival, loud words and bangs as things were put down. James ran his hand through his hair, telling himself that it was no big deal and that all he had to do was to get through the day. He didn't owe Steve anything.

Taking one last deep breath, James walked across the kitchen and into the living room. While the children hugged Skye ecstatically, Steve loomed in the background, tall and picture-perfect in his work suit.

Steve glanced up at James, locking eyes with him. "Skye," Steve said, never looking away from James. "Can you take the kids to the park?"

"We're going to do crafts first thing," Skye said, trying to detach herself from Clint. Then she looked at Steve's expression. "Or we could go to the park now. Shoes for everyone, kids."

"I'm wearing my shoes," Clint said, kicking his foot into the air.

"I'm not!" Natasha exclaimed, dashing for her sandals. "Is Daddy coming?"

"I need to talk to your dad," Steve said.

"Okay then," Skye said, catching up Natasha's hand. "I'll call when we're on the way back."

With a chorus of "Bye!" the children and Skye vanished out the front door. Steve closed it behind them, turning the deadbolt as he did so.

"You're going to be late for work," James said, trying to keep his voice even. What right did Steve have, to come into his house and start giving orders?

"I told them I'm coming in late," Steve said, turning to face James across the living room.

"Can't see why," James said. "What do you gotta do, go to the bank?"

Steve ran his hand over his face. "Bucky, I need to talk to you."

"Maybe, but I ain't listening." James turned away from Steve. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

"Bucky, what the hell is going on?" Steve demanded, following James into the kitchen. "Why won't you let me apologize?"

"Like I told you, Steve, there ain't nothing to apologize for." James went over to the coffee maker, for a lack of anything better to do.

"Yes, there is!" Steve stopped on the other side of the kitchen island, bracing his hands against the tiles. "Bucky, I'm sorry I got drunk and I'm sorry I kissed you."

James' fingers tightened on the lid of the coffee tin. Here it came, he thought, the last great fuck off. He braced himself.

"I was just so happy, and I got ahead of myself and I wasn't thinking about your boundaries and I'm sorry."

James frowned. "The fuck do you mean, got ahead of yourself?" he demanded as he turned around.

Steve's eyes were wide when he said, "I know you probably want to take things slow, and we hadn't even gone on a first date yet, but—"

"Whoa," James interrupted, putting up his hand to stop Steve. " _What?_ What first date, what the hell are you _talking_ about?"

"You said you'd go on a date with me," Steve said, his brows drawing together in a frown. "A movie, or something, we said we'd work it out when we got back to town—"

"That wasn't a date!" James exclaimed. The words coming out of Steve's mouth weren't making _sense_. "We were going to spend some time away from the kids, that was all!"

Steve had gone pale. "Bucky—"

But James wasn't done. "What the _fuck_ , Steve? What kind of straight man goes around playing with shit like this?"

"Straight?" Steve repeated, pushing himself up off the counter. "I'm not straight. Bucky, I've been dating men since I was in college. I'm bi."

James froze, staring at Steve. He tried to speak, but his throat was stuck; he couldn't even breathe. What had Steve just said?

Then Steve went and made everything worse by saying, "And you know that, Bucky, I told you!"

James moved his mouth, but no sound came out. He pressed his hand to his face, trying to find some sense in the last few minutes. Finally, he managed, "You never told me _shit_ , Steve!"

The color was starting to rise in Steve's cheeks, like it always had when he was a kid and he was furious, that slow deadly fury that usually ended in bloodshed on the playground. "I told you," he said, his voice lowering. "I wrote to you, and I told you and I said that I hoped you would still be my friend." Steve's voice was shaking. "And you never wrote back."

James' mind went blank for a startlingly long moment as he stared at Steve. His mind wouldn't connect with what Steve had just said. When had Steve written him? Especially to tell him something so important? The only time Steve had written James was in that year after he moved to New Jersey, exchanging letters back and forth, slower and slower as James found it so hard to respond to Steve, each letter killing James with loneliness, until…

James stopped breathing. Until that last letter from Steve, the one that James hadn't been able to open.

The last letter that was sitting upstairs, still unopened, in a box of things James' mother had saved after James left home to join the Army. A box of things James had shoved into a corner in the third floor storage room, buried under a box of Natasha's baby clothes where he wouldn't have to look at any reminder of his life before the Army.

He had to see that letter. He had to find it, and see if it really said what Steve said it did.

His feet moving of their own accord, James walked out of the kitchen without a word. Distantly, he heard Steve yell, "Bucky!" after him, but he didn't reply. He had to find that letter.

He hit the stairs at a run, breathing hard as he came out on the third floor. The room was at the back of the house, away from where the kids had their art studio. James opened the door, and sneezed as a waft of dust hit him in the face. He hadn't been in here in over a year.

Sneezing again, James made his way to the far corner. He moved the box labelled _baby clothes_ to the side, to see the old cardboard box right where he had put it the day after he moved into the house. The edges were battered and bent, but his mother's precise handwriting showed clear, marking the box as _James – middle and high school_.

James put his hand on the cardboard top. Here was everything he'd held onto from the time he'd entered middle school to when he left home at nineteen for boot camp. A few pictures, a book or two, the medals he won at track meets. And Steve's letters.

James' hand trembled as he picked up the box. It felt curiously light on his arm, for the weight of history it held. He didn't know what to think. All he knew was that he needed to see what was in that unopened letter.

When James returned to the kitchen, Steve was standing by the window. He turned when Bucky dropped the box on the table. "What the fuck is going on with you?" he demanded, rubbing his hand across his face.

"I kept your letters," James said, sitting down heavily.

Steve opened the box. He pulled out a packet of envelopes held together with an elastic band; the old rubber fell to pieces when Steve tried to pull it off. Silently, Steve flipped through the envelopes, fingers delicate on the old paper, until he got to one envelope that was still sealed. He pulled it free of the rest and turned it around in his hands, tracing the small cartoon frog drawn on the corner of the envelope. "It's not opened," he said, sounding a little stunned.

"I couldn't," James said, the words heavy in his mouth. "Every time you wrote me, it was like losing you all over again and I just couldn't do it anymore."

Steve took a deep breath. "Then you didn't know…" His expression moved from pole-axed to horrified in an instant. "Then all that time over these last months, when I was flirting with you, you weren't flirting back, _oh god_."

"You had a kid, and all you ever talked about was dating all those girls, Sharon and Peggy and Sam," James said in his defence.

Steve dropped the letter on the table. "Sam's not a girl," he said wearily, leaning back in his chair. "He's six-foot-two, ex-military. Pararescue. He works at the VA."

For a brief instant, James felt the wild desire to laugh, because that would have been the last thing he ever expected Steve Rogers to say. "Wonder if I know him."

"Sam Wilson," Steve said. "Moved back to DC last year. He's in counselling."

"Doesn't ring a bell." James stood up. He needed something to drink. It wasn't even nine in the morning, far too early for alcohol, so he walked to the counter to finish making coffee.

"Jesus, Bucky," Steve said, getting up. "I thought… I thought you knew."

"I didn't." James poured the water into the machine's reservoir, closed the lid, and turned it on.

He didn't know what to do. Steve Rogers wasn't straight. He was into men as well as women. For months on end, James had wished for this, fantasized about hearing those words come out of Steve's mouth, only now that dream had become reality James didn't know what to _do_.

Steve leaned against the counter beside James. He had the unopened letter in his hand. "Maybe you should read this."

James looked at the envelope. "Can you open it?"

Steve hesitated. "I think that you should—"

"No, Steve," James interrupted. He held up his hand. "Can you just do it and not make it a big deal?"

It was the first time in a long time that James had asked anyone for help because of his disability, and he was in too much emotional turmoil to care.

"Oh." Steve looked at the letter. "Yeah, okay."

Carefully, Steve tore open the envelope and eased the letter out. Slowly, he unfolded the paper and looked at it for a long time.

"What does it say?" James asked, not moving.

Steve held out the letter. "It's for you, you should read it."

James took the pages from Steve, the notepaper limp after so many years. Laying the paper on the counter, James took a breath before starting to read.

> _Hi Bucky!_
> 
> _Abraham is taking us to Six Flags to celebrate us all getting our report cards! Sally graduated from high school and she's going to work at the Dennys all summer and then go to college. Abraham said I can go to college too if I get good grades. I don't know what I want to do when I grow up. Maybe I'll come back to Brooklyn. But I like it here in New Jersey. Abraham said I can always be part of his family and that's nice Bucky. Maybe you can come visit me this summer. _
> 
> _I tried out for the baseball team again and they told me no. I'm getting better at throwing like we practiced, but still no one wants me on their team. Now I practice with Kimberly because she's on the softball team and is real good. Abraham says I don't have to be good at sports because I'm good at other things like school and drawing and he says that I'm too young to have to pick a ~~speshulization~~ specialization. _
> 
> _I don't feel too young. I feel old sometimes. All the other kids in my class act real young even though we're the same age. None of them was ever in foster care or adopted. Maybe that makes people older. Sometimes I feel like I think things that they never think of. If I was back home in Brooklyn we could talk about those things together because I think you and me think alike sometimes._
> 
> _Bucky, I have to tell you something that I wanted to tell you for a long time and I don't want you to be mad at me because you're my best friend in the whole world. I was looking in Abraham's medical books and you know Saul who works at the deli on the corner on the way to school he is gay because he lives with a man. In the book that's called homosexual. And people who are married are heterosexual. The book says there's something else called bisexual and that means someone can like boys and girls at the same time and they're not confused or sick they're just the way they are._
> 
> _Bucky, I think I am bisexual. I had a crush on Virginia back when I was a kid in fourth grade and now in my new school there's a guy and his name is Arthur and he's in the grade above me and he's on the football team and he's really tall and I think I have a crush on him. But I'm not going to say anything to him or anybody because a lot of times people get angry when a boy likes a boy. The library in town has books about that (it's called homophobia and people sometimes die). But I wanted you to know because you're my best friend Bucky and we blood-oath-swore we'd tell each other everything forever and ever until we die._
> 
> _I hope you're not mad at me and we can still be friends. Please write back and tell me you're not mad._
> 
> _Steve_

James pushed off the counter, his stomach churning. "I didn't write back," he said, horrified. "You must have thought…"

Steve sighed. "I thought you hated me," he said. "I remember your dad being… I remember what he said about people like Saul. And I thought you'd be like that too."

"Steve, I…" James didn't know what to say. His chest ached at what little thirteen-year-old Steve must have gone through, all alone in New Jersey.

"I checked the mailbox twice a day for two months," Steve went on. "When you didn't write back, I, well… I hated you for a while. Then Abraham asked me what was wrong and I told him. I figured if he was going to send me back to the foster system because of it, maybe at least I'd see you again. But he told me that I was part of his family, always. And that everyone is in a different place and if you were my best friend, then you'd come around." Steve pressed his hand against his mouth for a moment. "I couldn't write back to you after that, it hurt too much."

"I never opened the letter," James said, feeling sick. "Why didn't you say anything when we met again a few months ago?"

"I thought that it was in the past," Steve said. "You acted real good around me, and then when you told me you were gay, I thought that was just us getting back on the same page and that everything was fine again." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't think that anything needed to be said."

"Jesus Christ, Steve," was all James could say. One selfish act on his part so many years before had hurt Steve so much, and James hadn't even seen it. "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry."

He had reached out without realizing it, as if he could reach out across those years and take back what he had done. He meant to just squeeze Steve's arm, but Steve was looking at him with such wide eyes that James stepped in, his arm encircling Steve's shoulders in a hug.

Steve practically collapsed against James, his arms going around James' back. For such a large man, he felt curiously fragile in James' embrace. James rubbed his hand in circles on Steve's back, his body warming as Steve clung to him. "I'm sorry," James whispered again. "I'd never have done anything to hurt you, not for anything in the world."

Steve stayed where he was for a long moment, his grip on James solid. Then, slowly, he drew back. Steve's eyes were red, but he stood like a giant weight had lifted from his shoulders. "I know, Bucky," he said, smiling wanly. "I should have always known that."

James reluctantly moved back from Steve, giving the man some space. "I was ten," he said, the open vulnerability that had been in the letter pushing James to make a confession of his own. "When I figured out I was gay."

"You did?"

"Yeah." James leaned his hip against the counter, standing only inches from Steve. "I couldn't tell anyone back then, you knew my dad."

"Yeah, I knew your dad," Steve said darkly. "How did you figure it out?"

James took a deep breath. This was it. A moment of truth, spurred on by the memory of the little boy who hadn't opened Steve's last letter. "I had a crush on my best friend."

A slow light shone in Steve's eyes, and he smiled, as bright and happy as the sun. "Really?"

"Yeah." James placed his hand on the counter to ground himself. "I didn't ever tell him because I didn't want him to be mad at me."

"I wouldn't have been mad at you," Steve said. "Well, it might have been weird when we were ten, but…"

James reached out for the letter. "I should have been honest," he said. "Remember the blood pact we swore when we were eight?"

"Remember it? Hell, I've still got the scar." Steve held out his left hand, showing James a thin white line on the inside of his thumb. "Best friends forever."

"Through truth and honesty." James looked down at his left side. The doctors had amputated the remains of his left arm in a field hospital before stabilizing him and sending him on to Germany to recuperate. There was a lot in blood, in blood shared and in blood shed. And when he and Steve had each nicked themselves with James' mother's paring knife in the backyard, they'd promised to be true and honest to each other forever. "Maybe that's what we need between us now."

"Honesty," Steve said. "I think that's a good idea."

"Yeah." James shook himself. He pushed off the counter, taking the letter with him over to the table. He folded it carefully and placed it back on top of the others. "So, what do you want to hear?"

"Anything you want to tell me," Steve said carefully. "What do you want to hear from me?"

"Did you really think you asked me out on a date?" James asked as he put the letters back into the box.

Steve went over to the cupboard, pulling out two mugs. "Hey, we'd just had the best week of my life, and I thought…"

"It was a great week," James agreed.

Steve set the mugs on the counter. "And then I fucked things up."

"Steve—"

"You going to tell me I didn't?" Steve asked, not turning his head. "I think we both know better than that."

"Damn it, Steve, what I been through… it's complicated."

Steve looked up sharply. "Bucky?" was all he said, but James knew what he meant.

James walked back over to the counter and reached past Steve to pick up the coffee pot. "Truth and honesty, right?" he said as he poured coffee into the mugs.

"Only if you want to tell me." Steve's voice was almost a whisper.

"I really don't want to," James said, setting the coffee pot back on the burner. "But I think I should." He picked up one of the mugs and took a tentative sip. The coffee was hot and strong, but nothing like the brew Steve had made at the beach house. He set the mug down. "See, the thing is…" His voice broke off. "I had a really shitty night that night. Bad, like I have bad nights sometimes, and just all those strangers and it was really loud and that sets my head off, and sometimes when I get like that it's a bit like being back when everything was happening." He picked up the mug again for another sip. "And there I was with all that shit in my head and you came along and kissed me."

That hadn't been what he'd started to say; he was going to tell Steve flat out how nothing good had ever come out of James being kissed by drunken men, but the words wouldn't come out. In spite of all this talk of truth, there were some things in his past that James was never going to be able to talk to Steve about.

Even with what little James had said, Steve was looking horrified again. "I thought you were having a good time," he said, reaching out for James. His hand stopped an inch from James' wrist. "You were with the kids and everything was going so great…" He clenched his hand into a fist. "Jesus, Bucky, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop it," James snapped, turning on Steve. He put his hand over Steve's balled fist and gave it a shake. "You already said you were sorry for kissing me, and you ain't the one to be sorry for the shit I been through, all right? You didn't do any of that."

They were standing close now, James with his hand on Steve's. Steve swallowed hard, then deliberately he put his other hand on top of James'. "I'm sorry that I didn't see you were having a hard time," he said quietly.

"You were with your friends—"

"You're the one who matters most to me," Steve cut James off. As gentle as the words were, they still cut James deep. "I think I said it before, but I'll say it again. You're important to me, the _most_ important to me."

James looked down at where Steve was holding his hand. _Holding his hand_. "So, you talking like that, and you asking me out on a date and saying all these things, what does that mean?"

Steve cupped James' hand in both of his. The slide of his fingers over James' palm sent tingles all over James' body. "It means, Bucky Barnes, that I love you."

James looked up at Steve, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. But Steve was looking at him with such wide eyes, his face soft and open as he smiled at James.

"Maybe we could start over," Steve said. He squeezed James' hand. "Like when we met again for the first time in the parking lot."

"Oh. Okay," James said, finding his voice again. "Hey Steve. You got big. Sorry my kid shot you in the face."

Steve's smile grew. "It's okay, I'm pretty sure my kid was going to shoot you with an arrow in return."

"They're good kids," James said. His heart was beating so fast, he wondered that Steve couldn't feel his pulse racing in his wrist. "So you turned out okay."

"I'm okay," Steve said. He stepped closer to James. "And I'm in love with you."

James' heart leapt at the words. Still, he tried to keep his calm. "That's moving pretty fast, Steve," he said. "We've only just met."

"You're right," Steve agreed in a murmur. "We should go out on a date, see how things go. See if we have any… chemistry."

His voice dropped on the last word, and James nearly swallowed his tongue. "You want chemistry?" James asked. He turned his hand in Steve's grasp to lace his fingers through Steve's. The man's eyes grew dark. "I've got a whole bunch of bad chemistry puns from a book I saw at the library."

Steve laughed, a warm happy sound that James could listen to for the rest of his life. "Like what?"

"Like, do you have eleven protons?" James lifted his eyebrows. "Because you're so-dium fine."

Steve cracked up. "That's terrible," he said, squeezing James' hand.

"You started it," James said in his defence. "Did you mean it?"

Steve stopped laughing, but the delight still lingered in his eyes. "That we should date? Yeah, I did. I do."

"Why?"

To James' disappointment, Steve let go of James' hand. But then next moment, Steve had his hand on James' right shoulder, holding him close without crowding him in. "Because you're my best friend," Steve said. "Because whenever I'm with you, I'm happier than I've ever been with anyone in my life."

He stopped there, frowned slightly, and before he could say anything else, James cut in, "Yeah, yeah, any other adult, because kids are different, I get that."

"Yeah." Steve squeezed James' shoulder. "And _because_ you get that. Because you get Clint, and he gets you, and when we're together, the four of us, it feels like it's supposed to be that way. I don't know what will happen, Bucky, but if there's a chance that we can make this work between us, then I want to try."

Very carefully, James placed his hand flat on Steve's chest. "Steve…"

"I can't make any promises," Steve continued. "I don't know what will happen, but I want this more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life. I want you." He paused. "If you want me."

James ran his finger over one of Steve's buttons. "Yeah," he said, his voice cracking under the strain. "Yeah, you jerk, I want you. If you want to give this a try, then I'm with you."

That slow, warm smile returned to Steve's face, and James could not help but smile in return. This, here, was all he'd ever wanted, all he'd dreamed about over the last few months. But this was so much better than what he'd been dreaming. This was real.

"We'll try," Steve said. He took hold of James' hand again, and squeezed it.

"So what do we do now?" James asked.

"I have to go to work," Steve said reluctantly. He didn't move. "And then maybe tonight, I can come over and the four of us can have dinner, together."

"Okay," James said. "We can do that."

"And we can talk about when and how we can go on this date," Steve said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "We could go to a movie. Have dinner by ourselves."

"Yeah, we could do those things." James, moving slowly, withdrew his hand from Steve's chest. "I'll ask Skye if she has any ideas for a babysitter. Or if she wants to stay late one day."

He picked up his coffee cup again and took a deep gulp of the cooling liquid. Steve shook himself. "I really do have to go," he said apologetically.

"Yeah, if I was your boss, I'd be kicking your ass for showing up so late," James said. "A week on the beach and wandering in an hour late, slacker."

"I'm the boss," Steve reminded James, reaching past him to pick up the other mug. This put him so close to James that a mild breeze could blow them together. "I'm setting a terrible example."

"You are," James said. He swallowed hard, watching as Steve lifted the mug to his mouth, then licked his lips as he set the mug down. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure," Steve said, leaning even closer to James.

James took a deep breath. He touched Steve's cheek, gently tracing a line along to his ear, then down his throat to his collar. Steve shivered, his lips parting. James moved closer to Steve. "That I kiss you goodbye?"

"Oh god, Bucky, _yes_ ," Steve breathed.

James leaned in. Steve made a small noise as James' hand slid around the back of his neck, his own hands going to James' hips. But he didn't press in, didn't push James, and James felt the lingering tension in his muscles fade away. _This_ was how he'd wanted their first kiss to be.

He kissed Steve with a gentle press of lips, once, twice, and then slid his tongue along Steve's bottom lip, making Steve moan again as he returned the kiss, his lips soft and warm against James' mouth. Steve tasted like coffee and James wanted more, he wanted everything, but he knew that Steve had to go to work and the kids were coming home soon, and reluctantly he pulled back.

Steve blinked at him slowly, his mouth open as he breathed hard. James' imagination raced ahead, to all the things he could do with Steve to make Steve look like that again. "That was a good suggestion," Steve said. "You got any more like that, keep 'em coming."

"I got a few," James said. "Maybe when we've got some time to ourselves."

"Yeah." Steve took a deep breath, then straightened his tie and tugged his suit jacket flat. "Time to ourselves, that's a good idea."

James turned and walked out into the living room, hearing Steve's footsteps right behind him. "You don't get to work, though, you're going to have too much free time," James said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

"And we can't have that," Steve said, picking up his briefcase. He hesitated in the doorway, looking fondly at James. James had never thought that he would be the recipient of that look, and warm shivers ran down his spine. "Bucky, are we good?"

"We're good," James said. "Sometimes this week, we should talk. Honest talk."

"Truth and honesty," Steve said. "It could be hard to live like that."

"Can't be any harder than what we've been doing."

Steve nodded. "You're right." He let James open the door for him. "This could be hard work, you and me."

"I'm willing to work hard," James said, making Steve turn back sharply when he caught James' double meaning. "Damn it, Steve, _go_."

"Okay." With one last look, Steve opened the outer door and headed down the stairs. He glanced back at James standing in the open doorway a few times as he headed down the block, briefcase swinging in his hand, all the way until he turned the corner and was out of sight.

James closed and locked the outer and inner doors, went into his office, and collapsed onto the worn leather couch as the weight of what had just happened hit him.

Steve was bi. Steve had said he was in love with James. And James had kissed Steve, on the mouth, and Steve hadn't freaked out by being kissed by a one-armed man. Steve, who knew so much about James' history, hadn't been repulsed or horrified by James, hadn't pushed James away like he was damaged.

Steve Rogers had held James' hand, and said he loved him, and _kissed_ him.

James pressed his hand over his face. This didn't feel _real_. After one horrible day, where James had thought he'd lost Steve forever, everything had turned around and James had been given everything he'd ever wanted.

But it was real. Steve had stood in James' kitchen and said all those things, and he would be back later that night, and then maybe they could talk some more, and maybe James could kiss Steve again.

James laughed giddily, almost drunk on happiness. This was what he'd been wishing for, hope against hope, and now all of his wishes were coming true.

So what was he supposed to do _now?_


	21. Footprints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Footprints by Wayne Shorter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XvJFW0DHbU)

* * *

Ten minutes later, James was still in his office trying to pull his shit together when there came a sudden _bang-bang-bang_ on the outer front door. Frowning, James pushed himself to his feet. He wasn't expecting anyone.

Then the doorbell started to ring with a frantic _bzz-bzzzzzzz._ James' confusion slid instantly into alarm, adrenaline singing along his limbs as the buzzing and pounding continued. Daytime home invasions in Brooklyn Heights were uncommon, but in New York nothing was impossible.

James pulled his knife free from the sheath tucked under the desk and moved on bare feet out of the office toward the front door. He made sure to stay out of the sightline from the front door's glass, sliding along the wall until he could get to just the right vantage point to see out without putting himself in the direct line of sight.

James saw no one.

Then, in between hammering knocks, a flash of red hair, and James was bolting toward the door. That particular shade of red hair belonged to Natasha, and suddenly the solid, secure doors were a barrier between James and his daughter.

What was going _on_?

Dropping the knife on the hall table, James unlocked the inner door, then dove for the outer lock. Natasha saw him through the glass, and stopped ringing the bell to slap her hands on the door. "Daddy, daddy!" she yelled, and when James finally unlocked the door to open it, she dove at him. "Daddy!"

"Natasha, are you hurt?" James demanded, going down to his knees to wrap his arm around his daughter. She felt solid and whole. "What's going on?" he asked as he scanned the street, seeing only a distant dog-walker and a delivery van. "Where's Skye and Clint?"

Natasha let out a mighty sniffle. Her eyes were red and she looked about ten seconds away from crying. "Daddy, Clint fell down at the playground and hit his head and blood went everywhere!" she wailed.

James felt as if he had been plunged into a vat of ice. His breathing slowed, his fingers numbed, all extremities went cold. Clint was hurt. "Where is he?" James demanded, cold panic the only thing keeping him in place. "Did Skye call an ambulance?"

"No!" Natasha cried. "Skye's gonna bring Clint back home, but I ran faster to come get you!"

Mind racing ahead to potential emergency response plans, James pulled Natasha into the house. "You need to stay here, right here," James ordered. "Don't leave the house until I come back."

"But Daddy—"

"I have to go help Skye with Clint." James released his hold on Natasha's arm. "Operations Strawberry, stay _here_."

With that, James hurried over to jam his bare feet into his sneakers. He paused in the doorway on his way out of the house. Natasha stood staring up at him, hands clutching at the collar of her shirt. She hadn't moved.

"I'm going to be right back," James promised. His body still felt curiously cold. "I'm going to go help Skye with Clint and then I'll be right back, I promise!"

With that, he pulled the house's outer door shut behind him as he bolted down the steps. He knew the park where Skye took the kids in the morning, he knew the fastest way there… he just didn't know what he was going to do if Clint was hurt as badly as Natasha said he was. Steve had trusted James with his son, and now, if Clint was hurt…

James cursed the universe, wondering if he had jinxed everything. In his entire life, James had never been the one who got a happy ending. Nothing good in his life had ever come without some karmic payback, and if the universe had levelled that on Clint's head…

James rounded the corner at a run, and nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw Skye and Clint halfway down the block. Clint was walking under his own power, holding Skye's hand tight as he cried in soft, hiccupping breaths.

"What happened?" James demanded, dashing over to the pair.

Skye, who was looking shakier that Clint, said, "Clint fell off the climbing wall and bashed his head. I think he got caught on a sharp piece, there's some blood."

"I broke my glasses!" Clint wailed as he held out the twisted frames and cracked glass. Now that James was closer, he could see the blood on Clint's hair, just above his left ear. "I fell and I stepped on my glasses and I broke them!"

"Don't worry about your glasses," James said, taking the glasses from Clint as he crouched down. Other than tears, Clint didn't appear dazed or dizzy. "Clint, do you know what day it is?"

Clint sniffled. "It's Monday, but there's no swim class today," he said sadly, this distraction helping the tears to recede. "I want my daddy!"

"Your daddy went to work," James said, shoving the broken glasses into his pocket before he brushed the hair back from Clint's forehead. The boy's hearing aid was still in its place over his right ear. "Does your head hurt?"

"Yes!" Clint said, tears turning to a scowl on his face. "I _hit_ my _head_ on the _playground_." He pointed at the bloody spot on his head.

"Did he puke or pass out?" James asked Skye as he turned Clint's face up to the light. The boy's pupils responded normally to sunlight. As Clint pulled away from James, he moved his head and neck without any signs of discomfort.

"No," Skye said, patting Clint's back. Belatedly, James saw that Skye's hands were shaking. "I sent Natasha on to the house, is she okay?"

"Yeah, she got me." James assessed the situation, realized that he needed to get both Clint and Skye back to the house before someone passed out, and took a deep breath. "Clint."

"What?" Clint asked, sniffling again.

"I need Skye to go on ahead to make sure that Natasha is okay," James said. "Can you walk with me?"

"I don't wanna," Clint said, although he did let go of Skye's hand.

James looked at Skye. The young woman was already getting to her feet, a bit of colour coming back into her cheeks. "Go," James said quietly. "I got this."

As Skye hurried away, James turned back to Clint. "Now, see, I could carry you," James said, "But you're a pretty big boy."

Clint wiped his nose on his sleeve, smearing snot and tears on the cotton.

"So I can either carry you piggyback, or we can walk together," James went on. "Which one?"

James knew he was perfectly capable of carrying Clint home short-handed, but he had dealt with far too many concussions in the field to be easy about doing so with the boy. James didn't think Clint had a concussion, but if Clint refused to walk, James was going to carry him straight home and call an ambulance.

Clint let out a sad sound, halfway between a groan and a whine. "I can walk," he said as he reached up his hand to James. "I broke my glasses."

"We can get you a new pair." James took Clint's hand, the small fingers smeared with playground dirt and flecks of blood. "You're not in trouble for breaking your glasses."

"Once, in school, Evelyn fell and broke her glasses," Clint said, walking along at James' side. "Mrs. Anders yelled at her for _two minutes_."

James bit back his retort about Clint's former teachers. "That wasn't a nice thing to do," he said instead.

"Yeah." Clint sniffled loudly. His gait was steady and he stood straight, although he was moving slower than usual. James let out a breath in relief. So far, so good. "I like Skye, she's my favourite teacher ever."

"Skye is a very good tutor," James agreed. They reached the corner and turned onto James' street. "She cares a lot about you two nibblets."

"When I fell down, she gave me a _hug_." Clint looked up at James as he said this. "No teacher ever gave to me a hug before. Only Skye."

"Skye is different from a regular teacher," James reminded him. "She's a bit of a tutor, and a bit of an au pair."

Clint gave a sniffle that, in any other circumstance, might have been a laugh. "She's not a pear!"

"Nope, she's not." James glanced down the street. "Look, there she is with Natasha."

A few houses down, Skye was standing on the front steps at James' house, Natasha clinging to her. Clint waved at the girls. "Is Skye gonna hug me again?" he asked.

"Maybe," James said. "If you want her to. You can ask."

"I like Skye the best of all teachers everywhere," Clint said. Then he added, "I wanna go inside."

"Good, because I need to check out that head of yours." James led Clint the last few feet up to the brownstone's steps. "All right, everyone, in the house."

Natasha let go of Skye's hand to scamper up into the house. Skye lingered, putting her hand on Clint's back as the boy slowly climbed the stairs. "Should we take him to a doctor?" she asked quietly.

"Not yet," James replied. "He doesn't have a concussion, but I just want to check out that scrape on his head." James motioned for Skye to precede him into the house, then he closed and locked the doors firmly behind him.

Clint made a beeline for the sofa, flopping down on it. He started to sniffle again. Skye hurried over to the boy, and Clint allowed himself to be sat up and pulled into a hug.

James hesitated, unsure what to do first. Should he call Steve? The man would still be on the subway, out of cell range. Maybe James should wait until he got to his office and call him there. But if it had been Natasha who had hurt herself on the playground, James would want to know as soon as humanly possible.

As James tried to think out what to do, Natasha stormed into the living room, hauling Clint's sports bag behind her. "I'll make you feel better!" she declared. Clint looked at Natasha dubiously. "Here!"

She dug Floppy out of the bag and shoved the toy animal at Clint. He took the toy, cradling it carefully to his chest. "I hit my head, Floppy," Clint said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against Skye's side. "It hurt real bad and I broke my glasses and maybe I cried."

Natasha turned on her heel and dashed from the room, as Skye rubbed Clint's back. "A lot of people cry when they hurt themselves," she said. "It's okay."

Clint pressed a kiss onto Floppy's fuzzy head. "When my daddy fell off the house and broke his arm, he cried. Grandpa Abraham told me so."

Natasha ran back into the room, holding a wrapped popsicle. "Eat this," she demanded, shoving it at Clint. "You will feel better."

A shaky smile spread across Clint's face. "I like popsicles," he declared, dropping Floppy to the ground as he reached for the icy treat. "Is it all for me?"

Natasha stood back, her back straight as she selflessly declared, "All the popsicle is for you, because you got hurt."

"That's a nice thing to do," James said. "Natasha, you stay here for a sec, I'll be right back."

With a glace at Skye to make sure she had things under control, James went into the kitchen. He dug two more popsicles out of the freezer, then snagged a couple of dish towels out of the drawer on his way back to the living room.

Clint was doing okay, James told himself as he paused in the doorway. There was no need to take him to the emergency room. With Steve still en route to work, James would send him a simple text to call when he got back above ground. No need to alarm him.

James shook his head. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, and it had already been one hell of a day.

"I think we all need a popsicle," James said. "What do you think?"

"Yes," Natasha said, sitting up expectantly. Clint didn't respond, engaged as he was in his popsicle, sugary purple drops melting onto his shorts. James and Skye arranged the dishtowels over the children, before James handed Natasha and Skye a popsicle each.

"What do we say?" Skye prompted the children.

"Thank you," Natasha responded quickly, before tackling her treat. Clint, his mouth full, mumbled something.

"You're welcome," James replied. "Be right back."

This trip to the kitchen took longer. After taking a moment to put the mangled remains of Clint's glasses onto the sideboard, James gathered up the first aid kit and a washcloth, as he tried to think what to text to Steve. He didn't want to be alarmist; Clint was going to be fine. But he didn't want to make it sound like it was nothing, either. Clint's scalp had bled quite a bit and he'd probably bashed himself good to knock his glasses off.

And everything was complicated by the fact that not half an hour earlier, in this very room, Steve Rogers had declared his love for James, and now they were… what?

But he was dithering. Taking out his phone, James texted, _hey call me whn u get off train pls_. There, that was simple, to the point, and non-alarmist.

"Daddy!" Natasha's voice floated into the kitchen. "I'm done!"

"Already?" James went back into the living room. "That was fast."

"I like popsicles," Natasha informed him. She had a ring of orange popsicle juice around her mouth. At her side, Clint looked as if he'd smeared his purple popsicle all over his front. "Can we have more?"

"No more." James gestured for the children to follow him. "Come on, let's get cleaned up."

"Are popsicles magic?" Clint asked, holding Floppy in a sticky hand as he trailed after Natasha and James. Skye brought up the rear. "I feel okayer now."

"The healing power of sugar and food dye," Skye said. "Up on the counter, both of you."

She lifted Natasha and Clint up to the counter to wash their hands and faces while James unpacked the first aid supplies. He wanted to clean Clint's scalp wound to make sure the gash wasn't deeper than he first thought. He doubted it; scalp wounds usually bled like hell, and the amount of blood James had seen was small.

"Hey, Clint? Do you know if you've had your shots?" James asked as he pulled out the disinfecting spray.

"Yeah." Clint grimaced as Skye rubbed the wet washcloth over his face. "Last year, when I went, I got three suckers because I was so brave." He held up three fingers. " _Three_."

Natasha gasped in outrage. "Daddy, I didn't get suckers!"

"You got a whole sheet of stickers, sweet pea," James reminded her.

Natasha harrumphed. "It's not the _same_."

James removed several squares of gauze from the package. He had suspected that Steve, with his litany of childhood illnesses and being adopted by a doctor, had taken Clint for all his vaccinations, but it was better to check than to risk tetanus. "All right, here come the not-fun part." James bent down to look Clint in the eye, standing back a few feet so Clint could focus without his glasses. "I need to clean that cut on your head, and it's probably going to sting quite a bit."

Clint frowned. "Do you have to?"

"Yes, I do."

Clint buried his face in Floppy's fur for a moment. "Okay," he said sadly.

"I'll hold your hand!" Natasha declared, grabbing Clint's left wrist. "So you feel better."

"Yeah," Clint said, cheering at this suggestion. "And I'll hold Floppy too."

James looked at Skye. "Can you help?" he asked, handing her the antiseptic spray.

"Anything you need," Skye said. She patted Clint reassuringly on the back as James bent over Clint's head, brushing the hair back from the scratch. As he had suspected, the skin was only broken in a few places, a very shallow gash along the scalp. What Clint needed was some tylenol and some ice, and he'd be good as new.

"Okay," James said, picking up a square of gauze. "Here we go."

James worked quickly, wiping away the blood as gently as he could, but still, by the time he finished, Clint was sniffling again.

"How are you doing, Clint?" Skye asked as James threw the last bloodied gauze square into the sink.

Clint's lower lip trembled.

"We're all done," Skye said, and held out her arms to the boy. He let himself be picked up and carried back into the living room.

"Daddy," Natasha said as James helped her climb down from the counter. "I held Clint's hand."

"You did a great job."

"Even when he squeezed really tight," Natasha added, shaking her hand out for effect.

James knelt down, his bones creaking. "That was a very good thing you did for your friend," he said, drawing Natasha into a one-armed hug.

Natasha kissed James on the cheek. "Can I have another popsicle?" she asked hopefully.

"Sorry, we're out of popsicles." James gave Natasha one last squeeze, marveling at how fast she was growing up. "We're out of everything, and unless I go grocery shopping soon, we're going to be eating ketchup for lunch. Go sit with Skye and Clint."

Natasha scampered off, leaving James to clean up the detritus of the first aid kit. He could hear Skye starting to read the children a story, something quiet and peaceful.

A few minutes later, James' phone pinged with a new message. _Did I forget something? ;)_

James stared at his phone for a long minute. Steve was flirting. Steve had no idea what was going on, and Steve was _flirting_ with him.

Unbidden, James flashed back to the kiss in the kitchen, that slow, quiet kiss, that even now seemed more like a fantasy than reality.

James was yanked out of his remembrance by Clint's voice rising high and sad above Skye's reading. James could think about Steve later; right now, he had a hurt little boy to worry about.

_not that its clint call me_

Moments after James hit send, his phone rang. "What's up?" Steve asked, his voice far away and tinny with interference. "Is Clint okay?"

"He's fine," James said in a rush to reassure Steve. "He had an accident at the playground."

"Accident?" Steve's voice rose in pitch. "Like, wet-his-pants accident, or you're in the emergency room accident?"

"He fell off the equipment and bashed his head a little," James said, wincing at Steve's sharp intake of breath. "I think he'll be fine, he doesn't look like he has a concussion, and there was only a bit of blood."

"Oh _god_ ," Steve said. "Are you in the hospital? Do you need me to come back?"

"Steve, he's going to be fine," James said, making his way to the back door, going outside so the call didn't attract the attention of the children. "I cleaned up the wound, it wasn't deep, and he's calmed down. If anything, I think he was more upset that he broke his glasses when he fell."

For a long moment, all James could hear over the line were the sounds of the city street.

"Steve?"

"Yeah." Steve's voice was rough, but controlled. "Are you sure it's not a concussion?"

"As sure as I can be," James said, sitting on the back step. "He's alert and sharp, not acting like he's in too much pain over the scratch. He's clingy and crying a bit, but that happens when you get your bell rung. He's had his tetanus shots, right?"

"Last year before school started," Steve said. "Damn it, Bucky…"

James waited, as _damn it Bucky_ wasn't all that instructive.

"I really need to get to the office," Steve said after another pause. "I've been gone for a week."

"So go," James said. "Steve, Clint's fine. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Abraham's home now," Steve said. "Can you give him a call? He'll know what to do."

"Sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve shot back.

James closed his eyes. "It means that sure, I'll call Abraham."

"You think I should come back."

"No, you jerk," James retorted. "If I was calling you from the ER and you were all ' _hey, no, I gotta go to work_ ', then I'd have a few words to say to you, but Clint is _fine_. You do what you need to do and I'll take good care of your boy."

Another moment's pause, then Steve said in a subdued tone, "I'll call Abraham, tell him to get in touch with you. And I'll head back as soon as I can, all right?"

"All right," James said. "If anything changes, I'll call you right away."

"Bucky…"

James waited.

"You said Clint broke his glasses?" Steve asked.

James was certain that wasn't what he'd started to say, but he let it slide. "Yeah."

"I'll call the optician for a new pair."

"Good idea."

"I just…"

"I'll take care of your boy," James said again. "If anything changes, at all, I'll take him straight to the hospital."

"Thank you." Steve took a deep breath. "I'll call Abraham. And Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

In spite of everything, James felt a warm shiver run down his spine. "No need to thank me," he said. "I'd do anything for you two."

"I know. And I'm still saying it."

"Go to work," James said, unable to deal with Steve's gratitude right now. "Come home when you can."

"All right," and Steve ended the call. James put the phone down and took a few moments to breathe before heading back into the living room.

Skye was in the armchair, Natasha and Clint squished in on her lap. Natasha was avidly following along in the book, but Clint was curled in against Skye's side with his face pressed against Floppy. James, who by this point was ready for a nap, collapsed onto the couch for a rest.

The children were quiet, listening to Skye read about the Canadian children and their boring adventures. James closed his eyes for a few minutes, letting the words flow over him. Just for a minute, things were okay.

Then his phone rang.

With a grunt, James got to his feet and headed into his office, pulling the door shut behind him. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and said, "Winterhill Security, James Barnes speaking."

"Ah, James, hello. It is Abraham."

"Hi," James said, sitting down. "Clint's fine."

"So it sounded, from what Steven said. But a father worries."

"I hear you on that," James replied. He sank into his chair. "Do you want to talk to Clint?"

"Steven suggested I take a look at him. Do you have video-chat?"

"Yeah." The next few minutes were spent in the technical minutiae of hooking up web cams and speakers, until finally James had the software working and could see Abraham's face on the screen. The man looked well-rested after his conference in Atlantic city. " 'kay, hang on, let me get the kids."

James went over to the door and stuck his head out. Skye was still reading, but Natasha had lost interest and was colouring in one of her books on the coffee table.

"Hey, Clint, there's someone on the computer who wants to say hi to you," James called.

Clint turned his head. "Who's it?" he asked, climbing off Skye's lap, Floppy clutched tightly in his hand.

"It's your Grandpa Abraham."

Clint brightened. "Yeah," he said. "I'll say hi!"

"Me too!" Natasha jumped to her feet, abandoning her crayons.

Skye closed her book and stood as well. "Can I come too?" she asked the children.

"Yeah." Clint took Skye's hand. "Come meet Grandpa Abraham, he's _cool._ "

James went back to his chair, thinking that maybe he would roll it out of the way, but Clint was too fast for him. As soon as James was sitting down, Clint climbed up onto his lap, Natasha following him, until James was pinned in place by the children.

"Hi, Grandpa Abraham," Clint said. "I hit my head. Look."

James caught Clint as the boy attempted to head-butt the screen. "Clint took a tumble at the playground and bashed his head," James said. "Clint, hang on."

Skye came over to angle Clint's skull toward the web cam. Natasha, who didn't like to be left out of things for long, leaned forward to press her face close to the camera. "Hi, Grandpa Abraham."

"Hello, Clint and Natasha," Abraham said as he put on his glasses. He peered at the screen, making a _tsking_ sound. "Dear me, that looks like quite a smash."

"It was," Clint said solemnly as he sat back on James' lap. "It hurt, and then I stood up and my glasses fell off and I stepped on them and I got in trouble."

"You didn't get in trouble," Skye reminded him. She had pulled out the folding chair from the corner of the room and set it next to James' desk so she could sit down.

"I could have," Clint pointed out as he pressed his face against Floppy's belly. "Maybe I did."

Skye smoothed Clint's hair back from his face. "But you didn't."

"You must be Skye," Abraham said, pulling everyone's attention back to the screen. "The children told me much about you, when I was last in town."

Skye smiled. "They talked about you a lot too," she said, as Natasha slid off James' lap and climbed onto Skye's. "Clint, did you thank your grandfather for your birthday present?"

"No," Clint said. With the extra space, he turned on James' lap so he could press his bad ear against James' chest. "Thanks for the scooter. I didn't ride it yet."

Putting his arm around Clint, James said, "Steve wanted to pick up a helmet first. And today is a good example of why."

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"You wear a helmet so when you fall down you don't break your head open and your brains come out on the sidewalk," Clint said. "That's what Uncle Tony says."

"Wearing a helmet is a smart idea," Abraham agreed. "But sometimes, we fall down and hit our heads when we are not wearing a helmet. Like today. Clint, I need to ask you some questions about what happened when you hurt your head."

Clint let out a long-suffering sigh. "Okay."

"Do you know why you fell?"

Clint put out his hands in a show of complete bewilderment. "I climbed and my shoe slipped and then I falled down."

"He was on the playground equipment," Skye said, hugging Natasha. "I didn't see what happened, just heard Natasha scream."

Natasha put her hand in the air. "What is it, Nat?" James asked.

"I saw," Natasha said immediately. "Clint was going to climb _real high_ and then he fell over and he fell all the way to the ground and went _splat_."

The three adults winced at the description. Clint, however, looked at Natasha thoughtfully. "I didn't feel like I went splat," he said. "Just I was on the ground and I dunno how I got there."

"Did he lose consciousness at all?" Abraham asked. "Or was he confused about anything?"

"No," Skye said. "I got there as he was standing up. He knocked off his glasses and when he got up, he stepped on them and that upset him"

"That was an accident," Clint added.

"Ah," Abraham said. "Clint, I have some very important questions for you. Can you answer them?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you remember when you came to my house for Hanukkah last year?"

"Uh huh," Clint said. "Aunt Kimberly was really fat because she was going to have a baby, but she didn't have a baby yet. And Aunt Sally was mad because Peter kept trying to kick Pammie and I didn't like that so I stayed with Aunt Kimberly."

Abraham sighed. "Indeed, that was so."

"And I got to sleep in the rec room with Daddy and that was _cool_!" Clint went on.

"Yes, it was. Now, Clint, can you tell me about your birthday gifts?"

"Yeah." And Clint launched into a full recounting of opening his birthday presents, with Natasha inserting her commentary as they went. After Clint finished describing his bow, he ended with, "And then I shot arrows _every day_ but Daddy said I couldn't take my bow today because I might get too excited and shoot it over the wall and that would be wrong."

"That would be wrong," Abraham agreed. Even over the video connection, James could see that some of the tension had gone out of the man's posture, and he hoped that was a good sign for Clint's health. "Now, Clint, I need to ask you one more question. Natasha, you can answer this one too."

"What is it?" Natasha demanded, nearly falling off Skye's lap in her rush to get closer to the screen.

"It is this: What is your favorite candy?"

"I like chocolate and jellybeans," Clint said. "But maybe I like suckers more."

"I like gummy candy," Natasha said. "But not sours."

"I like sours," Clint said. "I'll eat yours."

"Okay," Natasha said, heaving a big sigh and leaning back against Skye's chest. "Is that a doctor question?"

"That is the question of a man who is making a trip to New York in a few short weeks and needs to know what to bring for two little children who are going to be starting school soon," Abraham advised. He looked from the children to James. "He is going to be fine. Perhaps a little sore in the head, but children's tylenol is a wonderful thing. You cleaned the wound properly—"

"And it _hurt_ ," Clint added.

James ruffled Clint's hair over his ear, away from the sore spot on his scalp. "You were very stoic."

"What's that?" Clint asked, turning his head to look up at James.

"It means that it hurt but you were very brave and didn't cry."

"Yeah." Clint turned back to the monitor to make sure his grandfather had heard this. "I was stoic."

"So was I," Natasha added.

James let this pass. "Anything else I need to keep an eye out for?" he asked Abraham.

"Any sudden slurring or confusion, or a bad headache coming on suddenly." Abraham smiled. "But then, you being in the Army, you know what to look for."

"Yup."

"All right," Abraham said. "All right, children, it is time for you to go back to playing. I need to speak with James for a little moment."

"Okay," Clint said. "Bye!"

He blew a kiss at the monitor, then slipped off James' lap and shuffled out the door, Floppy in hand. "Wait for me!" Natasha cried, pushing James' hand away and dashing after her friend. Skye, with a quick wave of farewell, hurried after the children.

When the room was clear, James leaned back in his chair, waiting for the lecture from Abraham on how to care for Clint if anything else came up. He was not expecting Abraham to say mildly, "Steve told me that you and he are having some problems."

For a moment, James was caught completely off-guard. He didn't know what to say; he had never had to defend himself against someone's parent before, and with Abraham it was even worse, because Abraham knew how much Steve had been hurt by the incident with the letter. He had always known, James realized with mounting horror. And he hadn't said a word the last time he was in New York, just came over to James' house and smiled at the children and hadn't let on how much James had hurt Steve.

What if one of the people Steve had been so frantically texting on the drive back from the beach was _Abraham_?

Wondering if this could get much worse, James said, "Steve and me, we was having some problems, but we worked them out," and then cringed at the Brooklyn twang in his grammar. He hadn't felt so flustered talking to anyone since before boot camp.

On the screen, Abraham did not appear convinced.

"We did," James protested. "There was a misunderstanding, but we talked it out before Steve went off to work this morning." And because his conscience was pushing him on, James said, "About that letter. From when me and Steve wa- were kids. I never got it. I mean, I _got_ it, but I didn't open it. But I kept it and today Steve told me what was in it, and I…" James raked his hand through his hair in frustration. He was turning this into a disaster; it was certainly not the impression he wanted to be giving to Steve's father. "We talked things through. Came to an understanding."

"Ah," said Abraham. "And this… understanding, does it mean that I will be seeing you and little Natasha when I come to the city later this month?"

"I expect so, yeah," James said, lifting his chin defiantly.

To James' utter astonishment, Abraham smiled. "Good. That is very good to hear."

"Yeah. It is."

"And now," Abraham went on, reaching for his keyboard. "I must get on with my day. If anything happens with Clint, anything at all, please call me."

"I will," James promised. He sat there as Abraham ended the video-chat, then sat some more as he tried to work through what had just happened. Abraham had been angry at James… okay, he understood that. But then he had been pleased to hear that Steve and James had worked things out. Did he understand what that meant? Would he be as happy when he learned that Steve and James were…

Were what?

James sorted through all the words he could think of. Together? That sounded accidental. In a relationship? Yeah, for like ten minutes maybe. Boyfriends? That made James shake his head. He'd thought he'd had a boyfriend once, when he was fifteen, and that was such a fucking disaster that James never wanted to hear the word again. Absolutely nothing back then could be compared in any way to what he and Steve had going between them now.

Giving up on definitions, James pushed himself to his feet and went to investigate what the kids were up to.

He found everyone in the kitchen having a hydration break. When she spotted him, Natasha set down her glass and said, "Daddy, there's no lunch food. There's no food at _all_."

"You're right," James said as he poured himself a glass of water, then joined the group at the table. Clint was sipping his water through a bendy straw and seemed content. "I have to go grocery shopping. Are you guys okay to stay here with Skye?"

Clint signed an enthusiastic thumbs-up, but Natasha was frowning. "Maybe I go with you, Daddy, so you get the right stuff."

That was a bit of a surprise. Normally, nothing could pry Natasha away from Clint or Skye. "Sure, if you want," James said. "But we have to be quick about things. I need to be back for a meeting with Maria this afternoon."

"I can be quick," Natasha protested. " _So_ quick!"

"All right, run upstairs and get some clean socks on. We'll leave in a few minutes."

With a last gulp of water, Natasha ran off.

Clint pulled the straw out of his mouth. "I'm going to pee," he announced to the room, and wandered out.

Once the children were out of earshot, Skye rested her head on her hands and let out a groan.

"Yeah," James said in agreement. He rubbed absently at his left arm stump under the long sleeve. The raw spot from the previous day had settled down, but was still tender to the touch, and he knew that his chest where the straps would go were still sensitive. Better to just leave the arm off until tomorrow, when he had to go to physio. "You doing okay?"

Skye rubbed her hands over her face. "I'm fine," she said, although her voice was subdued. "I wasn't watching Clint as closely as I should have been, he knows he's not supposed to climb so high."

"He's all right," James said. "You heard what Abraham said."

It took Skye a moment to respond. "I just keep thinking, _what if_ , you know?"

James let out a little bitter laugh in agreement. He had spent far too many days in the hospital after his arm was blown off playing the _what if_ game. It had come very close to driving him into a breakdown. "Clint's going to be okay," James said. "He's a tough little peanut. And this might make him a little more careful next time."

Skye shook her head. "And it might make him actually wear his helmet on his scooter," she said, sounding somewhat relieved.

Clint wandered back into the room, the front of his shirt soaking wet. "I washed my hands," he informed Skye as he went back to his chair.

"Why didn't I hear the toilet flush?" James asked.

Clint paused, considered, then went back out of the room. In a moment, the sound of the downstairs toilet flushing was nearly drowned out by Clint's hurrying footsteps. "The fart ghost didn't get me," he exclaimed proudly, climbing back onto his chair. "Running makes my head hurt."

"So lay off the running for a bit," James suggested. "What do you want for lunch?"

Clint repositioned his straw in his nearly empty glass. "Salad."

Skye raised her eyebrows at this. "What exactly did you guys eat on vacation?" she wondered aloud.

James, who suspected that he knew where this was going, asked, "What kind of salad."

Clint grinned a triumphant grin. " _Pizza_ salad!"

It was that happy expression more than anything that convinced James that Clint was going to be perfectly fine. "I will see what I can do about pizza salad," James said as he stood up. "Can you behave for Skye?"

"Yeah." Clint noisily sucked up the last of his water. "I _always_ behave for Skye."

"You do," Skye said in agreement, pulling Clint over onto her lap. "You are the best behaved young man I've ever met."

Clint beamed.

"Okay, we'll be back soon," James said as Natasha pounded down the stairs. "You've got my number."

"See you in a bit."

With that, James went into the living room, where Natasha was pulling on her shoes. "You ready to go, sweet pea?"

"Yes." Natasha stood up. "Bear wanted to come too, but I told him that he had to stay home and make sure Clint was okay." She pointed at the couch, where Floppy and Bear had been smashed together on the cushions.

James patted Natasha's hair. "That's a very nice thing for Bear to do," he said. "I'm sure that Bear and Skye will do a great job with Clint."

"They'd better," Natasha said in her most threatening voice.

James shushed her. "Come on, we need to get moving."

With the ease of long practice, James got his things together one-handed and ushered Natasha out of the house and into the jeep. She climbed into her booster seat without prompting, and in a few minutes they were on the road.

Natasha was unusually quiet in the back seat. James tried to engage her in conversation, pointing out landmarks as they drove by, but Natasha's short responses made James think that she had something on her mind.

He found a parking space with less difficulty than usual; then again, he seldom went grocery shopping during the week. He got Natasha out of the car, expecting to have to admonish her to keep from running off, but she stuck close to him all the way down the sidewalk and into the store.

Inside, James pulled out a cart. "Okay, Nat, we need to go pretty fast today. Do you want to ride on the end of the cart?"

Natasha shook her head, then clutched at James' hand.

James frowned. This was unusual. "What's up?"

Natasha shook her head again and crowded in against James' leg.

Damn it. James pushed the cart over to a quiet spot near the magazines, then knelt down. "Hey, what's up?"

Natasha huffed, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Daddy, Clint fell today."

"Yes, he did." James watched his daughter closely. "But you heard what Abraham said. Clint's going to be okay, he just needs a bit of time to get his equilibrium back."

Natasha scratched her cheek. "But Daddy, he _fell down_. I saw it."

"You're right," James said. "He did fall down. I bet that was scary."

A pause, then Natasha nodded.

"When our friends get hurt, that can make us sad and it can scare us too," James said. Damn it, where was a parenting advice blog when he needed one? "But even though you were scared, Natasha, you did all the right things."

Natasha looked up at him. From the expression on her face, James could tell that she didn't believe him.

"You did." James held out his arm, and Natasha leaned against him for a hug. "You did exactly what Skye and me told you to do, and when we got Clint home you did all those nice things for him. You got him Floppy so he wouldn't be sad, and you brought him a popsicle."

"If I fell down, I'd want a popsicle," Natasha said. She toyed with the collar of James' shirt. "And I'd want Bear."

James kissed Natasha's cheek. "You acted very grown-up today," he said. "I'm very proud of you."

Natasha let out a deep sigh. "I don't feel grown-up," she confessed.

"Can I tell you a secret?" James asked. Natasha pulled back to look at her father. "Some times, I don't feel very grown-up either."

"That's silly," Natasha said. "You're _old_."

"Well, silly or not, it's true." He stuck out his tongue, which made Natasha giggle. "Are you ready to go shopping now?"

"Yes," Natasha said. "And I'm going to ride on the cart _all by myself_."

"Sounds good," James said, holding his hand up for a high-five. "Come on, let's go!"

With Natasha securely standing on the end of the cart, James hunched his shoulders, and proceeded with his monthly _buy everything_ shop. If he might use it in the next month, it went into the cart without James thinking too much about it. Natasha adored these shopping days, because she got to see a month's worth of treats landing in the basket all at once.

The cart was heaped high by the time they got to the produce section. Natasha hopped off the cart to help James put her favorite fruits and vegetables into plastic bags. Her good humor had returned by this point, and she was chattering about her favorite parts of the beach vacation as James selected enough fresh food to last the week.

"Daddy, wait," Natasha interrupted her own story as James was turning the cart to the frozen foods aisle. "Clint got hurt today."

"I remember, " James said, moving the cart out of the way of a stock boy.

"And that's like being sick, right?"

"By some definitions."

Natasha put her hands behind her back and stuck out her tummy. "Do you know what always makes _me_ feel better when I'm sick?"

James, wondering what he was about to be roped into, sighed. "I bet there are a lot of things, pumpkin. Why don't you tell me?"

"Orange juice," Natasha said solemnly. "From real oranges."

James glanced into the cart. He'd picked up six types of fruit, but no citrus. He disliked cutting up oranges with his prosthetic; everything got sticky. But maybe he could ask Skye for some help. "Sure, let's do it," he agreed. "You get to pick the oranges, though."

Beaming with responsibility, Natasha skipped over to the orange display, James right behind her with the cart.

After that, it was a matter of going down the last aisle, where James tossed popsicles and frozen chicken strips into the cart, then they were heading to the checkout. Natasha distracted the cashier with her happy chatter while James kept an eye on the register, wincing a little as the bill rung higher and higher. Feeding four people, five if he counted Skye, was expensive.

With a minimum of fuss, James paid, stuffed daughter and groceries into the jeep, and made a quick phone call before driving off. In contrast to her mood on the drive to the store, Natasha was singing along happily with the radio now, kicking the back to the passenger seat as James navigated the Brooklyn streets.

As he turned back onto this street, James let out a sigh of relief. Things were going to be okay, he thought cautiously. Clint was okay, Natasha was doing better, and Skye had everything under control. Abraham wasn't upset with James, and Steve…

Well. He would figure out what was going on between him and Steve later. They had time.

Once they were parked, James unbuckled Natasha, handed her the bag with the frozen food, and sent her up the steps. It took James three trips to get everything in the house, then he locked up the front door and went to investigate where everyone was.

He found the children in the back yard, playing with the hose. Clint was wearing his sun hat and his sunglasses, a solution to his vision problem that James hadn't even considered, and his shorts. Natasha had just gone in fully clothed, and both children were drenched.

"Where's his shirt?" James asked, dropping on to the steps beside Skye.

"Soaking," Skye said. "We should be able to get the blood stains off the shoulder. There's a change of clothing in the sports bag, but he was just going to get wet anyway."

"Good idea," James said. "I didn't even think about his sunglasses."

"That was Clint's idea," Skye said. "He said he likes being able to see people's eyes."

James flinched as Clint got a faceful of water. "Where's his hearing aid?"

"In the kitchen by the stove."

"Okay." James climbed to his feet creakily. "I'm going to put the groceries away. We'll eat when the pizza guy gets here."

Skye smiled. "You really got them pizza?"

James shrugged. "They had a rough morning."

"Skye!" came twin shouts from the garden. "Skye, look, a worm!"

"Here I come!" Skye shouted, and James went inside.

He had most of the groceries put away by the time the doorbell rang. He went to get the pizzas, over-tipping the driver for being so speedy, then headed back into the kitchen. He put a roll of paper towels on the table, went to the back door, and yelled out, "Anyone want pizza?"

He was nearly trampled as two soaked children stampeded into the house.

The pizza did much to raise everyone's spirits. Clint devoured a slice of pepperoni and mushroom, while Natasha ate half a slice of cheese pizza before demanding that James pick the mushrooms off a slice so she could eat pepperoni too. Skye ate three slices before the children could finish theirs, which impressed them deeply.

When the children were finished, Clint let out a satisfied burp, which Natasha matched. Before things could devolve into a contest, James held up his hand.

"We got a lot to do this afternoon," he said. "I have a meeting with Maria, and you guys can tell Skye all about your vacation and draw some of your favorite memories."

"Yeah!" Natasha cheered. "Skye, did you bring the memory books? Did you?"

"I sure did," Skye said. Clint, who had been listening to this conversation with a puzzled expression on his face, slid off his chair and went to retrieve his hearing aid. "But first, you munchkins should change into dry clothing."

"I don't wanna," Clint said as he put in his hearing aid. He yawned. "I don't wanna wear my spare shirt, it's _itchy_."

"How about a big shirt?" James suggested. "I have lots upstairs."

"Me too!" Natasha interjected. She scrambled to the floor. "Daddy, let's go!"

James looked around the kitchen. It was a disaster, with the pizza boxes on the table, half-empty grocery bags all over, and dirty dishes in the strangest places. He sighed. "All right, let's go."

Getting the children changed and settled into their art studio on the third floor took far too long. He was just getting back down to the kitchen, to put the rest of the groceries away, when his phone pinged.

_How's clint?_

_good we had pizza 4 lunch. hes wearng his sunglasses. he took his hearng aid out b4 lunch but put it back wo me asking_

Steve's reply was slow in coming. _I forgot about the sunglasses. Was he upset?_

_no he likes looking @ skys face. r u ok_

_Abraham called me and told me that clint looks okay._

_yah hes ok. hes tuff._

_He's six, he shouldn't have to be tough._

James rolled his eyes. _ok hes resilient,_ James texted back, hoping he had the spelling right on the last word. _and he has me n sky and u and abraham making sure hes ok. and nat keeps shovng popsicles at him. he is gonna b ok_

Steve's reply of _Good_ came a few minutes later. Then, _Are you home for the rest of the day?_

_y meeting maria at 2 we stay here_

Speaking of which, James glanced at the clock, then down at his outfit. He was presentable enough for Maria, but he should probably go get things ready for their meeting.

Steve didn't reply to the last text message, which was just as well, because Maria arrived early. "You look like you got hit by a truck," she observed as James opened the door for her. "And you smell like pizza."

"We got extra if you're hungry." James closed the door behind the impeccably dressed woman. "Clint bashed his head at the playground this morning. He's okay, but it's been a hell of a day."

"How was your vacation?" Maria asked as she followed James into the kitchen.

"Great. The kids went swimming every day, and I got to meet Tony Stark." James tapped on a pizza box as he headed for the coffee maker. "And Steve asked me out because he thought I knew he was bi, only I didn't so we had a big fight and now I think we're dating."

Maria had stopped with a pizza slice half-way to her mouth. She stared at James. "You think?" she asked.

James leaned against the counter. "I guess. We kinda… you know."

Maria put her pizza down. "Tell me," she ordered in her sternest FBI voice.

James shrugged. In the intervening hours with Clint, James hadn't had time to process what had happened that morning with Steve. In this very kitchen.

"He, uh… he said I was the most important person in his life. And that he was in love with me." James voice broke on the last word. For so many months now, he'd been pining after Steve, convinced that there was no chance of him feeling the same way about James, and now… now everything was different.

"Wow," Maria said. She joined James on the counter. "What did you say?"

James examined his fingernails. "I may have said that if he wants to give this a try, then I'm in. And maybe I kissed him."

It was the first time in James' entire life that he had admitted out loud to kissing a man, and the part of him that would always be a scared fifteen-year-old was already cringing, waiting for Maria to deal him a blow. But she was Maria Hill, one of James' best friends in the entire world, and all she did was to bump her elbow against his and say, "Good for you."

James wanted to say something more, wanted to tell her how terrified he had been of Steve turning on him, of the terrible day he had spent waiting for Steve to kick him out of his life after that disastrous kiss in the beach house. But the words were a lump in his throat, so he just stood there, trying to breathe.

Maria, either sensing his mood or understanding that he wasn't going to speak, patted his arm until he moved out of the way of the coffee maker. "The Hardison group's latest plans are bogged down at the city planner's office," she said conversationally, as if they hadn't just been discussing the soap opera that was James' life. "From the sounds of things, they won't dig their way out until the new year, but I still think we can front-load most of the security plans onto the architect before I go away in October."

James scrubbed his hand over his face. "Any idea where you're going?" he asked.

"Probably Europe," Maria said. "Maybe Belgium, I haven't been there in years."

James nodded, then said, "I met the crown prince of Denmark."

Maria's eyebrow arched. "Exactly what kind of vacation did you have?"

James shrugged. "Steve's got a lot of friends," he said, and grinned at her expression. "Also Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, and an Air Force Colonel. Oh, and the chief of police who thought I was attempting to abduct Clint. Natasha did right what you told her to do, asked for the lady's name and badge number."

Maria poured water into the machine. "Would that be Janet Van Dyne?" she asked. Her voice was so clipped that James knew the association had to do with her FBI days.

"That's the one," and he banished all joking from his tone. Maria seldom referred to her time as federal agent in anything other than a light tone, and when she did, it was for good reason. "You meet her on a case?"

"A long time ago," Maria said. She slid the carafe into place and pressed the switch. "It was a long time ago."

James carefully reached out and touched Maria's shoulder in reassurance. "I'm going to clean up in here a bit," he said, knowing when to give the woman her space. "You want to check out the garden?"

Maria pushed off the counter. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said. "Don't touch my pizza."

James saluted, and Maria gave him the finger in response as she headed out the back door.

Whistling a little tune, James went over to load the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. When Maria came back inside, the coffee was ready and the table was cleared for them to get down to business.

They managed a full hour of work before the sounds of pounding feet on the stairs warned of an impending invasion, and Natasha burst into the kitchen. "Maria!" Natasha cried, as if she had been separated from Maria for ten years, not ten days.

"Hey there, squirt." Maria held her arms open for the girl, who ran to her and leapt into her embrace. "Your dad tells me that you had a great vacation."

"It was the _best_!" Natasha exclaimed, her eyes glowing. "I went swimming, and builded sandcastles, and went on a hike, and we had tea and I went to a party!"

James sat back in his chair as Skye and Clint came into the room. "You guys need a break from art?" he asked.

"Natasha wanted to make orange juice," Skye said apologetically, her gaze flicking over to Maria. "I didn't want to interrupt, but she was pretty insistent."

"We need a break anyway," Maria said. She pulled her hands out of Natasha's sticky grasp to close her notebook, then stood and held her hand out to Skye. "I'm Maria."

"Skye," the woman said, having to disentangle her hand from Clint's hold. "Natasha talks about you a lot."

"Maria is the best!" Natasha said happily, allowing James to haul her and Clint over to the sink. "And Skye is the best!"

"How can they both be the best?" Clint asked, frowning at Natasha from behind his sunglasses.

"Just like you and Natasha are both the best too," James interrupted. "Maria is the best Maria, and Skye is the best Skye."

Clint nodded sagely at this logic. "And I am the very best Clint _ever_ ," he declared, leaning over to squirt soap foam onto his hands. "I want orange juice."

"And you'll have it, just give me a minute." As the children washed, and Maria and Skye talked about Skye's field of study, James burrowed into the bottom cupboards to find the old electric citrus juicer. He hadn't used it in a while, not since he'd been sick with the flu the previous autumn, but he had inherited his mother's phobia of throwing anything away, so it must be around here someplace.

By the time James finally hauled the thing out of the cupboard, Skye was slicing oranges in half, while Natasha and Clint each held a whole orange for Skye's attention. Maria, staying far back from any potential juice spray, was pulling the good glasses out of the cupboard while telling Skye about some program at Stanford she had taken part in during her own college days. Once James had put the juicer on the counter and stretched the kinks out of his spine, he took a moment to consider Maria and Skye.

They weren't that far apart in age; Maria only a few years older than Skye. But where Maria had come from a family wealthy enough to pay her way through MIT right out of high school, Skye had been on her own since before she had graduated high school, taking a few classes in community college to get her certification to work with children. There, she'd worked hard for several years to make enough money to pay for more community college, then getting into NYU while still working almost full time. They'd both worked extremely hard in their lives, Maria and Skye, just from very different starting points.

Something slapped his leg. "Daddy," Natasha said at his side, her lips pursed. "Why is your face like that?"

Skye tried to hide her smile, but Clint just laughed. "I was thinking," James told Natasha, nudging her as he moved the juicer down the counter. "How very lucky we are to know Maria and Skye."

"Yeah," Clint agreed. He plopped his orange up beside Skye. "They're nice ladies. Can I do the juicer?"

Skye was happy enough to let the children take her place at the counter, and soon the electric juicer was whirling as Clint and Natasha each took their turn, with James unobtrusively lending a helping hand to make sure each orange half was juiced to its fullest capacity.

Finally, the moment of reckoning was upon them. With great solemnity, James poured the juice into five small glasses, one for everyone. He made the children go wash their hands first, then everyone sat around the kitchen table. Natasha was the first to take a sip from her glass. "Mmm," she said, licking her lips.

Clint was next. "This is good," he said in surprise. "Uncle Tony has juice like this."

"Is he a juice kind of guy?" James asked, leaning back in his chair.

"He has juice like this at brunch," Clint said. "I like brunch with Uncle Tony. I get to eat the bacon."

"Brunch," James repeated. Yeah, Tony Stark and that crowd were the type who brunched, he supposed.

"What's brunch?" Natasha asked.

James opened his mouth to make some scathing social commentary, but Maria kicked his ankle and he subsided. "Brunch is a meal between breakfast and lunch, that some people eat on weekends."

Natasha turned on her father. "Why don't we ever do brunch?" she demanded.

"Because you're always up bright and early," he told her. "It's healthy for little girls to have a good breakfast to keep them going through the day."

"When we go for brunch at Uncle Tony's," Clint told Natasha, "I have breakfast first, but Daddy doesn't because he says he's not hungry in the morning."

"I want to go for brunch with Uncle Tony," Natasha said, turning to her father. "Make Steve do it."

James set his glass down, feeling a swirl of anger in his chest, and knowing that it was aimed at Tony Stark, not his daughter. "First off," he said, "I don't make Steve do anything. I ask him, and he only does things if he wants to. Second, sweet pea, we don't need to go to Tony Stark's place for brunch. We can have brunch right here."

"When?"

"On a weekend." James reached over to push Natasha's hair back behind her ear. "When Steve and Clint can join us, and no one has to go to work."

Natasha considered this. "Yes, we will do it," she said finally. "But we have to have orange juice."

"And bacon," Clint put in. "And cross-sonts."

"Deal." James held out his hand for the children to high-five. "Okay, finish your juice and go play with Skye, me and Maria got work to do."

Natasha and Clint drained the last of their juice, then slapped their glasses on the table and ran out of the room. Skye sighed. "We'll be in the living room," she said. "They want to play a board game." She turned to Maria. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Maria reached into her purse to pull out a business card. "Give me a call if you do decide to launch out into consulting, will you?"

Skye hesitated for a moment before taking the card. "Yeah, I'll think about it," she said. Her gaze met Maria's. "Thanks."

"Skye!" came Natasha's piercing shriek from the living room. "We're ready!"

Moving quickly, Skye left the room. Maria turned around to find James glaring at her. "What?"

"What was that all about?" he demanded. "You trying to poach my au pair?"

"Get your head out of your ass," Maria told him. "Skye told me she was thinking about starting a technology consulting business when she graduated from college, and I told her that maybe she shouldn't wait."

James, to whom this was news, said, "What kind of business."

"Information security," Maria said as she sat down. "What, why are you looking at me like that?"

"I just didn't know," James said. He picked up a piece of paper. "Skye's good at computers and stuff, but I didn't know she wanted to get into consulting. She's going for a degree."

"A Ph.D. in developmental psychology doesn't pay the bills," Maria said crisply. "Now are we going to talk, or are we going to make money?"

James knew Maria well enough to let the topic drop.

They got through the rest of their work quickly and Maria left before four, with another planned meeting the next afternoon after James' physiotherapy appointment. Leaving Skye and the children to play yet another round of Candyland, James went downstairs to see what he could salvage of the day's laundry. Most of the stains had soaked out of Clint's shirt, so James dumped everything into the washer and threw in some soap. A day without some new clothing stain was like a day wasted to the children, so he didn't think Steve would mind too much.

Once the washer was going, James headed back upstairs. He barely had a chance to settle on the couch to watch the children play, when the doorbell rang.

"Daddy, you get it," Natasha said without looking up from the board. "I'm gonna _win_."

"I'm gonna win," Clint objected, scowling at Natasha. "You won last time."

James sighed. He supposed that after a long day of ups and downs, it was no surprise that the children were having a disagreement. But they'd work through it; they always did.

Getting to his aching feet, James crossed over to the front door. Through the glass, he could see Steve standing on the top step, fidgeting.

James unlocked the inner door, then stepped through to open the outer door. "What, you forget your key?" he said in greeting.

"I left it at home this morning," Steve said. "I thought… well, we were…" He shook his head. "How's Clint?"

"He's fine, unless Natasha wins the next round of Candyland," James said. He stood back to let Steve into the house, and the man brushed past him, standing rather closer to James than he needed to. James shivered as Steve put a steadying hand on James' hip. Then Steve was gone into the house and James was left holding his front door open for the whole neighborhood to see.

Steve, James thought as he pulled the doors shut and went to join everyone in the living room, was trouble.

"Hey, buddy," Steve said, sitting down beside Clint. "How are you doing?"

"I'm winning!" Clint declared, never looking up at his father. "Shh!"

"I'm winning!" Natasha objected crossly. She glared at her friend as James eased himself onto the floor beside her.

"No, I am!"

"I am!"

Skye made a short whistling noise, drawing all attention. She put her hand down firmly on the cards. "Guys, we talked about this," she said. "When we play a game, we are friends. If we can't be friends while the game is on, then we stop playing. Do we have to stop playing?"

Clint pouted, while Natasha flung herself dramatically at James. "No, we don't stop," she wailed. "But I want to win!"

"I want to win too!" Clint said, climbing into his father's lap. Steve wrapped his arms around Clint, getting in a good hug while the boy was distracted. "Natasha always wins."

"No, _you_ always win," Natasha shot back.

"How about," Skye interrupted, her voice rising above the children's bickering, "You guys let your dads play, and help them out, so your dads win?"

James bit his lip as Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance. "Okay," Natasha said, losing all steam. "But I want to move the marker!"

"Me too," Clint put in.

Skye removed her hand from the cards. "Then it's Steve's turn."

Still holding Clint on his lap, Steve moved closer to the board so he could draw a card. After Clint moved the game piece to the next colored square, Steve gathered the boy up in a squashy hug. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"Uh-wah," Clint said, his mouth pressed against Steve's chest. Steve let him go. "I hit my head, did Grandpa Abraham tell you?"

"Yes, he did," Steve said. He kissed Clint's forehead, making the boy squawk. "He said that you were a very brave little boy."

Clint shrugged, his attention on the game board where Natasha was moving her piece. "I just fell down, that's all."

"He went _splat_ ," Natasha said with relish, slapping her game piece onto the square. "But he didn't cry, just a little."

"I got right back up again," Clint went on, looking to his father to make sure that Steve was paying attention. "And I walked all the way back by _myself_ , no one carried me!"

Steve rubbed his hand over his mouth. "That sounds like you had a really tough morning."

"Yeah." Clint pointed at the board until Steve picked up a card. "But we had _pizza_ for lunch."

"I hope you enjoyed it, because tomorrow we're having carrots and gruel," James said.

Natasha made a face. "What's gruel?"

"Watery porridge."

"Yuck. Daddy, you can't cook tomorrow, I'll do it."

"You will?" James said in mock surprise. "Great, what's for breakfast?"

"Cheese sandwiches." Natasha looked at the card in James' hand, then moved the marker. The game was neck-in-neck now, with the pieces nearly at the end of the board. "For lunch, we have macaroni and cheese."

"What's for supper, deep-fried cheese sticks?"

"No, salad," Natasha scolded. "Daddy, pay attention."

"I will help you cook tomorrow," Clint said solemnly. "I make good sandwiches. I use lots of peanut butter."

James looked over the children's heads to Steve. The man was smiling at his son fondly, the expression making him look years younger.

Then Steve glanced up at James, and his smile changed, his eyes sparkling, and for a moment, James forgot to breathe.

"Daddy!"

"Yes, Natasha?"

"It's your _move_!"

Turning his attention to the board, James drew a card, and for the next three minutes the air was thick with competition. Finally, after a hotly contested draw, Clint moved his game piece to the winning square, and let out a cheer. "Daddy, you won!"

Natasha slumped back in disappointment. "Daddy, you _lost_ ," she said. "Next time, I'm gonna play on Steve's team."

"Next time, we can all play on Steve's team."

Steve was in the process of standing up. "Come on, Clint, we have to get going."

"Why?" Clint didn't move. "I want to play Go Fish."

"I made an appointment at the pediatrician's for five thirty."

"I don't wanna go to the doctor," Clint grumbled. "I wanna stay here."

"You can borrow the jeep," James offered. Steve looked down at him. "Take the jeep, then you can be there in twenty minutes instead of having to leave now for the train."

"I don't want to impose," Steve said, but James knew from the expression on his face that he was thinking about it.

He held up his hand, and Steve took it, hauling James to his feet. Even after James was vertical, Steve's hand lingered on his, making James' stomach swirl. "Let the kids play some more games, and you can leave in a bit."

"Go Fish!" Clint repeated.

"Natasha, can you get the cards?" Skye suggested. Natasha ran over to the cabinet, intent on her task.

"Let's go into the kitchen," James suggested, reluctantly pulling his hand free from Steve's.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Kids, we'll be in the kitchen."

"We _heard_ you," Clint pointed out, settling down beside the coffee table. "Go away."

James shook his head and led Steve into the kitchen. Here, out of sight of the living room, James felt himself relax slightly. The kids were okay, and Steve was okay, and things were going to be just fine.

"You want some coffee?"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, I'm wired enough." He rubbed his eyes. "I know Abraham said that Clint's okay, but the pediatrician had a spot this afternoon and I wanted to get Clint checked out again, just in case."

Was it James' imagination, or was Steve looking a bit defensive? "That's a good idea," James said, not sure what Steve wanted to hear. "It'll make you feel better."

Slowly, some of the tension in Steve's shoulders relaxed. James went over to lean against the counter beside Steve. "I don't know how I can thank you, Bucky," Steve said quietly. His voice was deep and slow and James' very bones hummed with the vibration. "You take such good care of Clint, and I—"

"I'd do anything for you two, I told you that," James said, turning to put his hand on Steve's wrist.

Slowly, Steve moved his hand to lace his fingers through James'. "I know you would," Steve whispered. James felt as if his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. "And it means everything to me."

James was trying to remember the last time anyone over the age of six had held his hand; he was coming up blank. "Are you going to kiss me again?" he asked, running his tongue over his lower lip.

Steve was so close to him now, his eyes so blue and comforting. "All the way in on the train this morning, all I could think about was you."

"And then I called you about Clint."

It was the absolute wrong thing to say; Steve visibly stuttered and pulled back, his fingers tightening around James' hand. "I knew you'd take care of him, you and Skye," Steve said. "But I just couldn't concentrate all day, you know?"

James squeezed Steve's hand in reassurance. "Steve, if something happened to my little girl, I'd be a fucking disaster until I got to see her myself. I get it."

Steve slowly withdrew his hand from James'. "But he's okay. Like you said, he's tough. He's just never fallen like that before."

"Natasha said his foot slipped," James said, unsure if he was allowed to touch Steve or not. Were they at that stage yet? What stage was that, even? They had kissed that morning, with Steve declaring his eternal love for James; what other stages were there?

"He hasn't been as clumsy as he was before he got his glasses," Steve said, turning and pressing his chest against James' left side, his hand going around James' waist in what most people would technically have called an embrace. For a moment, James had no idea what to do; then, as Steve rested his forehead against James' hair, all the pieces suddenly fell into place for James.

This was a _hug_. Steve was folding himself in around James because he needed a hug, because his little boy had been hurt and he'd been holding it in all day, and James was just standing there like a lump.

Well, James could fix that. He might have less arms than your average man, but he could still put what he had to good use.

"C'mere," he mumbled, turning to put his right arm around Steve's shoulders. Steve let out his breath in a whoosh, wrapping his arms around James' back. It was a lot to take in, being hugged by Steve Rogers, but James concentrated on being reassuring and supportive. "He's okay. Clint's okay."

"I know," Steve whispered, moving his hand up to cup the back of James' head. "I know."

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies pressed together from the force of the embrace. James could feel the warmth and the hard muscle of Steve's body, and even though he tried very hard to stay still, his hips may have twitched slightly, making his interest in the present situation more than apparent.

Steve let out a little chuckle, his lips brushing against James' ear. "There's that too," he said as he pulled back to look at James. He was smiling now, his lips curved up at the corners. "How are you doing with everything?"

Carefully, James eased away from Steve, turning away to adjust his jeans. "I'm fine with it," he said, trying to sound casual and failing. "You?"

"About us?" Steve's smile widened. "I'm happy."

"Happy," James repeated. There was a pressure in his chest, something building that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. Steve was happy. Steve had said that he loved James, and now, Steve was looking at James as if he was holding the whole world in his hand. Taking a deep breath, James said, "Steve, there's something I gotta tell you, that I didn't say this morning."

Some of the shine faded from Steve's face. "What is it?" he asked.

James slid a little closer to Steve. They weren't touching, not quite, but James could almost feel it as Steve breathed. "It's something I've known for a long time, almost since I met you again."

"Oh yeah?" Steve licked his lips, momentarily distracting James. "What's that?"

James reached up to smooth a wrinkle out of Steve's shirt, running his fingers over the firm swell of Steve's chest. "This morning, you said you love me."

"I do," Steve breathed, hardly even blinking as he stared at James.

"That's good, 'cause I love you too, you jerk."

And just like that, with few words, James had committed himself. There was no backing out of things now, no pretending that he didn't care, that he hadn't fallen asleep every night for months knowing that he was in love with his best friend.

Slowly, Steve reached up to cup James' cheek in his hand. The gentleness of the touch, and the expression on Steve's face, made James weak in the knees. "That's good," Steve said. "Otherwise, this could get awkward."

"What could?"

"Dating." Steve's smile was wistful. "Hanging out. Just being around you."

James lightly punched Steve in the gut. "You mean like the last three months?"

Steve laughed, pulling back enough to slap James on the chest. "God, we're a disaster," he said. "Two goddamned adults and we can't even figure this shit out."

"It only took us a few months," James said. "Some folks got their heads up their asses their whole lives. I think we're okay."

"We are more than okay," Steve said, catching James' arm and drawing him close. "I think we're pretty damned good."

From the living room came a thump, then an "Uh oh."

James bit back on a frustrated growl. He loved the children, really, but what he wouldn't do for ten uninterrupted minutes with Steve.

"What happened?" Steve yelled into the other room.

"Spilled water glass," Skye replied. "We're okay."

"That better not be on my couch," James said as he slipped away from Steve to fetch a dish rag.

"I'm sure it's fine," Steve reassured him, following James out into the living room. There, the children and Skye were hurriedly mopping up a pool of water on the hardwood floor. No carpet or furniture had been harmed, but the playing cards were growing soggy in the little puddle.

Natasha looked up as James came into view. Her lower lip was trembling. "I broke them!" she burst out. "I didn't mean to!"

With a sigh, James sank to his knees. "Were you winning?" he asked.

"I was, too, and now I'm not," Natasha said sadly.

"It's all right," Steve said. "Look, we can dry the cards out on the window seat and they'll be good as new tomorrow."

Steve and the children made quick work of blotting the water off the cards, then leaning them against the window to dry in the afternoon sun. Skye tidied up the remains of the games, while James dried the floor, made sure that no other hidden water glasses were lying in wait, then hefted himself onto the couch.

"Daddy," Clint was saying as he patted the back of Steve's hand. "Where's my glasses?"

"You broke them, buddy."

"Yeah, but my _new_ ones." He peered up at Steve through his sunglasses. "It's dark in here."

"I'll pick them up tomorrow," Steve said as he tweaked Clint's nose, which made the boy giggle.

"Me too!" Natasha exclaimed, and held her face up so Steve could gently pinch the end of her nose. "Daddy never does that."

"Daddy's a stick in the mud, everyone knows that," James said. "Nat, can you help Clint get ready to go? Pack up all his things."

"Okay." Natasha and Clint wandered off together, leaving the adults to collapse in the living room.

"Man," Steve said, resting his elbows on his knees. "What a day."

"I'm really sorry about Clint this morning," Skye said. "He was just climbing and I only blinked for a moment, and then he fell."

"It's okay," Steve said with a tired smile. "I wish he would listen to me when I tell him not to climb too high."

"Maybe he will now," James suggested. "Abraham was talking about helmets and his scooter, maybe Clint will pay attention."

"Maybe." Steve watched as the children drifted back into the room. "Clint, can you change into your spare shirt? We got to get moving to the doctor."

"No," Clint said. "I lost it."

Steve didn't miss a beat. "Where did you lose it?"

Clint looked confused. "I don't know."

"Natasha," James said, "Do you know where Clint lost his spare shirt?"

"No," Natasha said. "When I went to find Floppy, it was there, and now it's gone!"

Steve rolled his eyes. "All right, we have five minutes to find it," he said. "Let's go!"

While the children and Steve looked around the room, James gestured Skye to follow him into the kitchen. "I have physio tomorrow morning," he said as he dumped his handful of wet cloth into the sink. "I think I'll take the train. You good to be here on the usual time?"

"I will," she said. "Let me know if anything comes up with the doctor, okay? Clint's important to me."

"Of course I will." James tried to smile reassuringly. "You can take off whenever you want, Steve and Clint will be leaving again and I think I'll get Nat to help me make dinner."

Skye nodded. "You know, it's going to be weird when school starts," she said as they walked back into the living room. "Everyone back to school, and I won't see the kids."

Reminded of a conversation he'd had just that morning, James said, "You know, if you ever want to make some extra money during the school year watching the kids for a night or two…"

He was trying for casual, like any dad who might want to have a night out, but he could tell from Skye's expression that she wasn't fooled for an instant. "Anytime," she said, her face solemn but her eyes were laughing at him. "Let me know what your schedule is like."

"Found it!" came Natasha's voice from the second level. "Why is your clothing up _here_?"

"I don't know!" Clint exclaimed. "Natasha, you can find _anything_."

"I know," Natasha said. "I'm smart."

When James and Skye re-entered the living room, it was to find an extremely disgruntled Clint being stuffed into his shirt by Steve, while Natasha stood nearby holding Floppy. "Clint, we need to get a move-on," Steve was saying.

"I don't want to go to no stinky doctor," Clint moaned.

"Don't call Dr. Smalles stinky," Steve admonished. "She is your pediatrician and she takes very good care of you." He gently smacked Clint on the behind. "Get Floppy and let's go."

Clint stomped over to Natasha, took the offered stuffed animal with great dignity, then stomped over to the door. Natasha looked after him worriedly.

"Skye's leaving too," James said. "Everyone, say goodbye to everyone else."

Amongst the mêlée of hugs and farewells, Steve drew James aside. "Do you need me to bring the jeep back tonight?" he asked.

James waved that away. "Nah, take the Grump Monster home and then drive over in the morning. Me and Natasha are good."

Steve put his hand on James' right upper arm and squeezed firmly. "Bucky, you're the best."

"You keep saying stuff like that, I may believe you."

"You better." With one last squeeze, Steve stepped away to detach his child from Skye's leg. "Clint, come _on_."

Soon, Natasha and James were left alone in the house, with Natasha hurrying over to the window to wave goodbye to her friend. James went to collapse on the couch, closing his eyes.

"Daddy, are you asleep?" Natasha asked a few minutes later.

"Yes." James faked a snore.

"No, you're not." Natasha pinched his ear lobe. "Can we have pizza for supper?"

"Nope." James opened his eyes. "We need some vegetables. How about green beans and baked chicken?"

"I want the drumstick," Natasha said. "But I want to go to the park now."

"The park?" On reflection, James was not surprised. Natasha had been cooped up inside all day, and it had been their standard practice during the school year to go to the little park on Monday evenings. "Do you want to leave now?"

"Right now."

James sat up. "All right, get your shoes."

In under ten minutes, James and Natasha were striding along the sidewalk in the direction of the park. They had a nice conversation about school supplies and the nature of the new school year for three blocks, but Natasha's voice trailed off as they reached the park.

"What's up, kiddo?"

Natasha pointed. "That is where it happened," she said. "Clint fell there."

 _Oh_. Suddenly this trip made more sense. "Do you want to go look where he fell?"

Natasha nodded grimly. "You _said_ , if you fall down, you get back up and you go see why you fall, so you don't do it again."

James drew a blank. "I said that?"

"Maybe." Natasha pulled him forward. "Maybe I imagined that you said that."

James gave a mental shrug. "Imaginary me is pretty smart." He walked with Natasha over to the playground equipment. "Was this where it happened?"

"Yeah." Natasha planted her feet and glared up at the apparatus. "Clint climbed up all the way before, and he didn't fall."

"Sometimes, it only takes a tiny slip."

"Maybe." Natasha glared some more. "I think he didn't tie his shoe all the way. And he fell and hit his head." She let go of James' hand. "I'm gonna go swing."

"I'll be right there," James called after her. Something had caught his attention, a small spot of dark red on a metal edging. Stepping forward, James reached up to touch the metal, and came away with a flake of red, that might have been dried blood.

James swallowed hard. From the height Clint had fallen, if he had been even a fraction of an inch to the left, he'd have done far more damage to himself than just a gash on the scalp. Hitting his head on that metal, from that far up…

James backed away, nausea curling over in his gut. He didn't want to think about Clint with a concussion from his fall, or worse. Clint was okay, and was heading to his doctor's office for a full check-up. The little boy was going to be _fine_.

"Daddy!" Natasha called from the swing set. "Push me!"

"I'm coming," James said, wiping his hand on his jeans. As he made his way over to his daughter, however, James was unable to rid himself of the impression of a child in a hospital bed, lying motionless and still, close to death.

"I'm going to swing so high!" Natasha squealed, kicking her feet.

"Hold tight," James reminded her, trying to shake the picture from his imagination. "What's rule number one?"

"Safety first!" Natasha bellowed. "But push me, push me!"

James did as he was told. Everyone was safe and sound, and he was just being a foolish old man.

Nothing was going to harm the children. He wasn't going to let it.


	22. Midnight Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack is [Midnight Blue by Kenney Burrell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNWDwOsQqlw).

* * *

Natasha tore around the playground for almost an hour, until finally she acquiesced to her father's pleas that they return home for dinner. Back at the house, Natasha helped in getting the meal into the oven and then cleaning up the kitchen and the living room. James was a bit surprised; Natasha wasn't often so helpful in the evenings, but he knew when to roll with his daughter's passing interests.

Dinner was eaten, then it was time for an after-supper story, then a bath, then Natasha climbed into bed for more stories. After a long day with its many ups and downs, she fell asleep just before ten.

Carefully, James tiptoed out of Natasha's room, closing the door behind him. He went downstairs to finish cleaning up the dinner dishes, wondering idly if he could get away with turning in early himself.

He had just placed the last dish in the dishwasher when his phone pinged. _omg Clint is finally asleep_ , Steve wrote.

Turning on the dishwasher, James headed into the living room as he pecked out, _nat in bed. hows clint_

_He's ok_

_how r u_

_> :(_

James rolled his eyes. _call meee_ , he replied, flopping down onto the couch.

A moment later, James' phone rang. "Mondays have never been my favourite," Steve said without preamble. "Natasha's asleep?"

James shifted around on the couch to get comfortable. "She made me take her back to the playground after you left and she ran around for an hour," he said. "Wore her old man out."

"Lucky," Steve replied. "Clint was rude to his doctor so we had to have a talk and a time-out when we got home."

"That doesn't sound like him," James said. "How did the talk go?"

Steve let out a big sigh. "He told me that he didn't ever want to go to the doctor again, and he didn't want his head to hurt, and he wanted to go swimming and to practice with his bow and I was a mean dad because I didn't let him."

James suppressed a laugh; Steve sounded too grumpy to appreciate it. "But the doctor said he's okay?"

"Yeah, perfectly healthy. I'm supposed to keep an eye out to make sure his scalp doesn't get infected, but the doc said that you did everything right today, Bucky." Steve sighed again. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," James said. He shifted so he could hold the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "I'd do anything for you and Clint, stop making a big deal outta it."

"It is a big deal," Steve said, his voice so low that a shiver ran through James' body. "You're a big deal to me."

James ran his tongue over his lower lip. "How big?" he asked.

Steve gave a gentle chuckle. "Very big," and the way his voice shaped that last word made James' mind drop straight into the gutter. "The way you look at me sometimes, it makes me feel real special."

James turned onto his side so he could hold the phone in place. "I was always trying so's you wouldn't see me looking at you," he said quietly.

"I did, a few times. I haven't had many people look at me like that, you know."

James stretched out his legs on the couch, painfully aware that he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to talk to Steve now that they were…. Whatever they were. He cleared his throat. "So, what are you doing tomorrow?"

Steve switched gears without hesitation. "Bring your car back in the morning. Thanks for letting me borrow it, by the way; Clint was so uncooperative on the way over to the doctor's that I can't imagine getting him there on the train."

"I bet," James said. Normally, Clint was so easy-going, but when he got an idea in his head, like running away from school, he was more stubborn than a mule. "You can bring the jeep over whenever. I have physio in the morning, so I'll probably take the train."

"You know," Steve said, "We could always take my bike into the city. I've got an extra helmet."

James' breath froze in his throat. The last time he'd been on a motorcycle had been on a mission in Afghanistan, a mission that had gone painfully, horribly wrong. He wasn't sure he could do that again. "Maybe some other time," he managed to say. "I think I just want to take the train tomorrow."

"Okay," Steve said instantly. "We could ride in together, if you're leaving early."

James jumped on this suggestion. "Yeah, let's do that. I got stuff I can do before my appointment."

"Like what?"

"There's a bookstore that might have something I promised I'd get for Clint," James said. "Call it a late birthday present."

"What's it about?"

"It's a picture book with archers from around the world, something like that. We were looking at it in the library in the Hamptons and Clint fell in love."

"That sounds like fun," Steve said. "If you can't find it, I'll look online."

"Yeah." James closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what Steve was doing. "So, did you guys do anything else tonight?"

"Had dinner," Steve told him. "I made the mistake of trying to get Clint to eat some carrots so now he hates me even more. Then Abraham called, that distracted him, but it took me forever to get him into bed. I hope a good night's sleep will help him settle down."

"I'm sure it will," James said. "It always does with Natasha. And if not, he can nap tomorrow."

"You're a braver man than I am," Steve said dryly. "You try telling him that."

"He went down for a nap on his birthday," James pointed out.

"That wasn't a nap, that was passing out from exhaustion." There was a light clatter on the speaker. "Sorry, still doing dishes."

"I'm done all that shit," James said. "I thought I'd maybe head to bed soon. I didn't sleep well last night."

He hadn't meant anything by it, just a general expression of how tired he was, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Steve went dead-quiet on the other end of the line.

 _Shit_. "Didn't mean it like that," James said, sitting up. "I just… fuck, I don't know."

"It's okay," Steve said. The clattering of dishes had stopped. "I had a pretty crappy night last night too."

James rested his elbow on his knee. "I just didn't know what to do, you know?"

"Yeah, me neither."

"I…" James stared at the floor, at the worn polish on the old wood flooring. "I don't know how to do this, Steve."

"Do what?"

"Whatever the hell we're doing. I'm not…" James let the word trail off, wondering if he should even finish that sentence, let Steve know what he was really in for.

"You're not what, Bucky?"

The house was quiet, with the soft swishing sounds from the dishwasher drifting in from the kitchen. James took a deep breath. "I don't want to fuck things up, but I don't know what I'm doing."

"Like I do?"

James leaned back against the couch cushions. "More than I do. How many people you dated since you became a dad?"

There was a moment of silence on the line. "Are we including Sharon or not?" Steve finally asked.

"S'up to you."

"Fine. Leaving Sharon out of it, I've dated three people since Clint was born."

"See?" James said. "You know what you're doing."

"That's different," Steve said heatedly.

"How?"

"Because you're my best friend, Buck, and that makes this different."

For a moment, James didn't know what to say. Finally, he got his mouth in gear. "Good different, right?"

"Yes, you jerk." Steve sounded exasperated. "It's the best kind of different."

"Yeah," James said, feeling light-headed. "I guess it is."

"Yeah." Steve suddenly laughed. "God, how long has it been since we talked this morning?"

James glanced at the clock on the stereo. "Fourteen hours, I think."

"Talk about a rollercoaster day."

"At least we're on this side of it." James stood up, to start his nightly security check of the house. "Clint's okay, that's all that matters."

"And we're okay," Steve added. "You and me."

"Yeah." James shuffled into the kitchen to check the windows latches and the back door bolts. "Steve?"

"Yes, Bucky?"

James tucked the phone against his shoulder as he triple-checked the deadbolt. "This… you and me thing. I want to make this work, but if I fuck something up… tell me, okay?"

"You're not going to fuck anything up."

"Yeah, but if I do." Satisfied that the door was secure, James took hold of the phone again as he headed for the front of the house. "I don't know if I can stand another day like yesterday."

"Deal," and Steve's voice was firm. "But same with me, Bucky, if I fuck something up you tell me."

"Deal." James paused by the living room window, looking out onto the quiet street below as he drew the curtains. It was nearly ten, and darkness had fallen softly in this corner of Brooklyn. "Look, I gotta go, get ready for bed."

"Same. You have a good night."

"You too."

James pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the button to end the call before he said something stupid. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, and he wasn't sure if the unfamiliar lightness in his chest was euphoria or something he ate. Either way, he'd better go to bed. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a busy day, and after the past couple of days, he could use a good sleep.

And tomorrow, he would see Steve again.

Shaking his head at himself, James tucked his phone into his pocket to give himself a free hand to finish locking up the house for the night.

* * *

James was yanked awake in the middle of the night by a teary voice saying, "Daddy, Daddy."

Blinking hard, James reached for the bedside lamp. The sudden brightness revealed Natasha, clutching hard at Bear as she hurried towards James' bed. She was crying.

"What's wrong?" James demanded, sitting up as Natasha climbed into James lap.

Natasha wrapped her arms around James' neck and let out a loud sob into his ear. "I had a bad dream!" she wailed. "I got scared!"

James put his arm around Natasha and rocked her gently. "Hey, you're okay now," he said reassuringly. "You're awake and that was just a dream and it's over."

"It was a bad dream!" Natasha insisted, sniffling loudly. Her sharp fingernails dug into the back of James' neck.

"I know," James said. He pressed a kiss against Natasha's hair. "Come on, tell me what happened."

Natasha turned around on James' lap, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "I had a bad dream," she said crossly, glaring at her father. "There was an earth-shake and the house fell down and I got squished and I died!"

"Oh dear," James said, hugging Natasha in sympathy. "That sounds like a very bad dream."

"It was!" Natasha pressed her head against James' shoulder, her lower lip trembling again. "I'm never going to sleep again!"

"Yes, you will." James shifted Natasha around so she could crawl into the empty space on the bed next to the wall. "You're going to calm down and then you're going to go back to sleep. Here's Bear, he needs a hug."

Natasha grabbed her teddy bear out of James' grasp and hugged it tight. While she was occupied, James hurried down the hall to the bathroom to wet a facecloth, then returned to his bedroom.

Natasha had not moved, curled into a tight ball on top of the blankets. "Come on, sweet pea," James urged, getting his daughter to sit up. He wiped the tears off her cheeks. "Now, do you want to go back to bed?"

"No!" Natasha flopped down, pulling Bear close to her. "I can't go back to my room, Daddy, that's where the bad-dream monsters are."

James stared at his daughter. She had never before refused to go to her bedroom. Sure, she would object to going to sleep, but not refusing to go into her room. For a moment, James wasn't sure what to do. Should he insist? One look at Natasha's miserable expression made him toss out that idea. "Okay," James said. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Yes," Natasha said promptly.

Of course. James went to fetch a light blanket from the closet. Natasha was still on top of the covers, but the night wasn't warm enough for her to sleep in just her pyjamas. Carefully, he draped a corner of the blanket up over his daughter and her bear. "How's that?"

"Good," Natasha said as she snuggled down under the blanket. "Daddy, go to sleep."

She was already mellowing, eyes closing. James shook his head as he got back up to close his door, then headed back to bed. He got under his covers, but before he turned off the light, he looked over at Natasha. "Good night, sweet pea," he whispered.

Natasha sniffled. "You're making too much noise," she mumbled, pressing her face against Bear's cheek.

"I do that," James said with a fond smile. He turned the lamp down to its lowest setting, in case Natasha woke up again in an unfamiliar place, then closed his eyes.

It took James a while to fall back asleep. Natasha's soft breathing was enough to keep catching at his consciousness. He remembered, when he'd first brought her home as a baby, how he had hovered over her when she was napping, to make sure she didn't stop breathing.

That had been a long time ago, just over five years, but James remembered vividly that raw sense of panic and wonder, that he was a father, that he was really going to raise a baby all on his own.

Now, five years later, he still had moments where he was struck anew of the responsibility of raising a child. Other times, though, when it was two in the morning and all he wanted was a bit more sleep, the awe was dampened with exhaustion.

Eventually, James slept.

* * *

James woke to the sensation of tiny fingers pinching his nose shut.

"Daddy, your alarm goed off but I stopped it."

James didn't move. The few hours of sleep had only served to make him more exhausted.

"Daddy." Another nose-pinch.

"Please stop that," James mumbled, not opening his eyes.

His nose was released. "Why?" Natasha asked.

"Because I don't like it."

"Oh." There was a brief pause while Natasha regrouped, then a finger was poked into James' ear. "Daddy."

James turned his head, eyes still shut. "Nat, stop."

"But then how'd I wake you up?" she demanded.

"You use your words like a big girl," James said. Damn, but he was tired.

"Okay." A pressure on James' side, then Natasha collapsed onto him, her bony knee digging into his hip. Natasha put her mouth next to his ear, breathing noisily. He tensed, in case she did something foolish like try to yell him awake, but she just whispered, "Daddy. Daddy. Dadd _eeeeeeeeeee_. Wake up."

Well, he had set himself up for this. With a sigh, James opened his eyes to find Natasha staring at him from a nose-length away. "Good morning, Natasha."

She grinned, showing off her baby teeth. "Are you awake?"

"Barely." James forced himself to sit up. "What time is it?"

"Six twenty-one," Natasha said, hauling Bear with her as she slid off the bed. "See, that's what the clock says."

James rubbed his hand over his face. He'd need to shave that morning before he headed into the city. "It does. How are you this morning?"

Natasha shrugged. "I had a bad dream last night but I'm better now," she said. "Can I have hot chocolate?"

"Nope, but if you meet me in the kitchen in a few minutes, I'll make you a special milk drink with honey," James bargained.

"Okay!" Natasha bounded to the bedroom door, opened it, then scampered off in the direction of the bathroom.

Yawning, James changed into sweatpants and a clean t-shirt before shuffleing out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

When Natasha bounced into the kitchen five minutes later, James had a pot of coffee brewing and was just pulling the honey out of the cupboard. "Where is it?" Natasha demanded, tossing Bear onto a chair before going over to James' side. "Where's my drink?"

"Patience, pumpkin. Get a spoon." James let Natasha scoop a healthy dollop of honey into a mug. "Okay, now milk."

Natasha waited breathless as James put the milk and honey drink into the microwave, then stared hard at the countdown. James made himself busy by getting a cup of the strong coffee out of the pot. When the microwave dinged, he cautioned Natasha to stir and sip carefully so she wouldn't burn her tongue.

"Daddy, this is so good!" she squealed after her first taste.

"Good," James said. He still wasn't fully awake. "You want to go sit at the table?"

"No, outside," Natasha declared. "Like pretend we are at the beach."

"Okay." James deactivated the house alarm, unlocked the back door, then carried his coffee cup outside while Natasha followed with her own mug. The morning was dawning clear and warm over Brooklyn, with a slight breeze blowing through the trees. In spite of James' exhaustion, it was the perfect start to the day.

Natasha waited until James sat down on the top step before handing him her mug so she could sit down herself. Then she took back the mug and sipped again, letting out a contented sigh. "Daddy," Natasha said after a moment. "This is a nice thing."

"Sure is." James slurped at his coffee. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yeah, but only when the bad dreams stopped." Natasha slurped at her drink, echoing James' bad table manners. "Bad dreams are stupid."

"They're not nice," James agreed. He set his mug down so he could rest his elbow on his knee. "Do you remember the dream you had?"

Natasha scowled. "Yes, but I don't like it," she said.

"That's understandable," James said. "Sometimes I have bad dreams that I don't like to remember. But sometimes, if you talk about a bad dream and why it's scary, it's not so bad."

"What bad dreams do you have?" Natasha asked.

"Well." James took a breath, then let it out. How was he supposed to explain what he'd gone through to a five-year-old? "Remember how we talked about how sometimes when bad things happen to you, you can get scars on the inside as well as the outside?"

"Yup," Natasha said, shifting closer to James on the step. He put his arm around her shoulders. "You said that when you got scared by the roller coaster."

"I did." James took a moment to put his words in order. "When bad things happen and they scare us, sometimes our minds keep thinking about them even after we fall asleep. And then we dream about them."

"But Daddy," Natasha objected. "I didn't be in an earth-shake yet."

"Earthquake," James corrected. "And no, but scary things happened yesterday, so maybe your brain turned that into a dream about an earthquake."

"That's dumb," Natasha declared. "I don't like it."

"Same here, kiddo." James gave Natasha another squeeze, then reached again for his cup. "But you know, if you talk about the things that scare you, then it's not so bad."

The level of hypocrisy in that sentence was astonishing, James thought sourly, but he'd do what he could to help Natasha with her problems. His own could wait for another decade.

"Is there anything you were thinking about yesterday that was worrying you?" James pressed.

Natasha set her cup down on the step. "Daddy," she said seriously, "I go back to school soon."

"Yes, you do," James said, not letting surprise into his voice. School had never been a contentious point for Natasha before. "You're going into the first grade."

"Clint's going to go to school with me," Natasha went on. "But I have a new teacher. What is she doesn't like me?"

"Hey, come here." James pulled Natasha over so she was sitting on his lap. She rubbed her head against his throat, clutching at his shirt. "Of course she'll like you."

"What if she thinks I'm dumb?" Natasha protested, leaning back to look at James. "I don't want a teacher who thinks I'm dumb."

"What's making you think that?" James asked.

"Clint's teachers called him dumb, and they made him go to the back where he couldn't hear," Natasha said heatedly. "I don't want a teacher like that. I want a teacher like Mrs. Singh, she's nice!"

James pulled Natasha into a hug, making the girl squawk. "Nat, I'm sure that your new teacher will be nice," he said as Natasha pushed him away.

"But do you _know_?"

James waited as Natasha climbed off his lap and went back to her drink. "I'm willing to make an educated guess," he said. "Ms. Green is a very smart lady, and she would only let nice teachers into her school."

"That means you don't know," Natasha said sadly.

"Hey." James nudged Natasha's foot with his toes. "We're going to meet your teacher next week and you can see then. And she's going to meet Clint the same day, so you both can see how nice she'll be."

"What's her name?"

"We'll find out next week," James said. He had it listed in an email from the school, one he hadn't read too closely. "But remember, kiddo, the most important thing about school is about learning new things and making new friends."

"Clint's my friend."

"Yes, he is. And he's going to be new at your school, so you have to help him meet everyone and make new friends with the other kids."

Natasha drank the last of her milk, and set the cup down with a satisfied burp. "When do we go see the teacher?" she asked.

James reached over to wipe the milk moustache off her upper lip. "Next Wednesday."

"Today is Tuesday," Natasha observed. Together, they counted out the days until they reached the following week. "That's a long time from now."

"It can be." James held out his hand to Natasha. "What do you say we go inside and get some breakfast before Skye gets here?"

"Okay." Natasha followed her father into the house, carrying her mug with both hands.

Since they still had some time before Skye arrived, James made breakfast burritos under Natasha's strict direction. They ate at the kitchen table, talking about books that Natasha had read and wanted to read, and James made a mental note to schedule a library visit with the children later in the week.

They lingered over the meal for so long, Skye arrived while Natasha was still in her pyjamas. James sent Natasha upstairs to change while he did dishes and Skye set up the crafts for the day. In deference to Clint's head injury, Skye had planned a quiet day around the house.

Natasha returned, wearing her ballet leotard and a skirt, carrying a rock. "Look, Skye, look," Natasha said breathlessly. "This is my memory rock. I found it on the beach. When I look at it, I remember the things I want to remember."

Skye dutifully knelt down to look at the stone. "That's very nice," she said. "What do you remember when you look at it?"

Natasha pondered the question. "Fun stuff," she said finally. "I got to build sandcastles with Daddy, and I got to play in the pool, and we had so much ice cream!"

"Those are all great things," Skye agreed. "How about we put the memory rock on the table and you can look at it all you want today, okay?"

James' phone rang. Stepping away from the girls, he slid his thumb over the screen to answer. "Hey, Steve. You guys running late?"

"Nah, we're outside," Steve said, and his voice was just so perfect that James smiled. "Is Skye here yet?"

"Yes."

"Can you get her and Natasha into the kitchen? Clint has a surprise for them."

"Sure," James said. "You need me to unlock the door?"

"I've got my key, see you in a bit." The line went dead, so James slipped his phone into the pocket on his way back into the kitchen. Natasha and Skye were still at the table.

"Hey, can you guys hang out in here for a minute?" James said.

"Sure," said Skye.

"Why?" Natasha demanded.

"Because Clint's here and he wants to show you guys something." James caught Natasha as she flew towards the front of the house. "Geeze, Nat, stay put!"

"But Clint's here!"

"And you'll see him in a minute."

Skye came over to get Natasha. "Come on, let's sit and wait for him."

Natasha grumbled all the way back to the table. "This is no fun!" she fumed, although she did let Skye pull her up onto her lap. "I want to see the surprise!"

"And you will," Skye said soothingly. "Patience."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the kitchen entrance.

Out in the main room came the sounds of the door opening and two voices. James leaned against the counter to wait. After a moment, Steve and Clint came into the doorway, Clint still wearing his sunglasses. Steve knelt down beside Clint, and said, "You ready?"

Clint nodded nervously. "Hi!" he said, his voice too loud in the small room. "I want to say, thank you, to Skye and to Natasha, for being nice to me when I was hurt!"

He sounded rehearsed, and when he finished his sentence he looked at Steve, who nodded encouragingly.

"And so to say thank you, I got for you a thing." Clint disappeared for a moment, then returned with his arms full of an enormous bouquet of white daisies. "This is for Skye!"

He shuffled across the room, unable to see the ground from behind the flowers, so James stepped forward to gently guide him away from any obstacles. Natasha slid off Skye's lap as Clint approached.

"These are for you, because they are like clouds in the sky!" Clint watched Skye closely, to make sure that she had gotten his point. "And they are for you!"

"Oh, Clint, thank you so much." Skye slid off the chair to take the bouquet from the boy. "This is the nicest present anyone has ever gotten me."

Clint beamed. "Don't smell them," he cautioned as Skye drew him into a one-armed hug. "They don't smell like nice flowers. They only look like nice flowers."

"They're perfect," Skye said, squeezing Clint. He clung to her happily. "I'm just really glad you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm okay," Clint said, stepping back from Skye. "Flowers are pretty, like you!"

Natasha, who had been watching this exchange with impatience, turned to James with a frown on her face. James jumped in before she could say anything that might end in hurt feelings. "Aren't these nice flowers, Natasha?"

Natasha clenched her hands at her sides. "Yes!" she said sorrowfully. "They are so pretty flowers for Skye!"

"Clint," said Steve. "Don't you have something to show Natasha?"

"Yeah! Wait here!" Clint dashed out of the room, Steve on his heels.

James knelt down by Natasha to take her hand. "It was nice of Clint to get those flowers for Skye, wasn't it?" he said.

"Uh huh," Natasha said. Her eyes were fixed on the kitchen entrance. "What's going to happen now?"

"You need to wait to find out."

Just as Natasha was about to tear off in pursuit of her friend, Clint and Steve came back into the kitchen. Steve was carrying what looked like a shallow bowl. "This is for you!" Clint declared, pointing extravagantly at Natasha. "Come see!"

Natasha was off like a shot, running over and almost tripping Steve up. It took both Skye and James to get the children out of the way long enough for Steve to put his handful down on the table, revealing an arrangement of small succulent plants.

"This is for you!" Clint said again, hopping up on a chair. "Look!"

Natasha climbed up beside Clint, her eyes round and her mouth open in wonder. "They are little plants!" she exclaimed. "That one looks like a stone! And that one has tentables!"

"Tentacles," James corrected. "Clint, this is a very nice present."

"It's for Natasha because she was nice to me when I fell and she gave me a whole popsicle!" Clint said proudly. "We can put it in a special place and watch it grow up together!"

"Yeah," Natasha breathed as she gently touched the edges of one plant, then snatched her hand back, giggling. "That one's spiky!"

"Natasha, can you say thank you?" James said.

"Okay." Natasha turned around on the chair. "Clint," she began solemnly, "You are my best friend and we will go to school together and then we will come home together and take care of our plant together."

"Yes, we will," Clint said, satisfied.

James looked up at Steve, who was watching the children fondly. Then Steve transferred his gaze to James, and for a moment James forgot what he was going to say, under the weight of Steve's brilliant smile.

"All right, kids," Skye said, bringing James back to himself. "How about we put these flowers in some water and then figure out where we're going to put the planter?"

A chorus of cheers met this suggestion. Leaving Skye to corral the children, James stepped out into the living room, Steve close on his heels. "That was really nice," James said in a quiet voice.

"It was Clint's idea," Steve said, leaning against the couch back. He was dressed in a suit and ready for work, and all James wanted to do was to touch him. "We were talking about how to say thanks and Clint said he had to get Skye flowers, don't know where he picked that one up, but we stopped by a flower shop on the way over and once Clint saw the cactus thing, he just had to get it."

James, who knew very little about plants other than those he could eat, said, "I hope it wasn't too expensive."

Steve shrugged, but he was smiling. "I let Clint do the talking, he charmed the owner into giving us a discount."

"He's a great kid," James agreed. Feeling suddenly bold, he went over to perch next to Steve on the couch back. "How's he doing today?"

"A lot better," Steve said, leaning against James' side. He was warm and smelled great, and James was painfully aware that he needed a shower and a shave. "He's got his equilibrium back. And his appetite. I hope you've got enough in the house for lunch."

"Left-over pizza and stuff for sandwiches," James said, not really thinking straight with Steve so close. "I'm not going to be back from physio until after lunch, so maybe I'll make a real lunch for them tomorrow."

"They'd be happier with pizza, I bet. Although you do cook real good," Steve said.

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it." Steve nudged James' arm with his elbow. "Even Clint agrees. You know what he said to me last night when I was trying to get him to eat a vegetable? He said, 'why can't you cook vegetables like James? He doesn't make them stinky'."

"High praise," James said, although he did smile. "You like my cooking so much, how's about you two stay for dinner tonight?"

"I'd like that." Steve was getting closer now, close enough to kiss. "It'd be a great end to a day, spending it with you."

A thump, a crash, and tiny stampeding footsteps pulled the men apart. "Daddy!" Natasha yelled. "We found the _best_ place for the plants! Come see!"

"Yeah, come see!" Clint joined in.

James made himself smile at the children. "Sure thing."

As he stood, Steve rested his hand for a moment on James' lower back, and the shiver that ran down James' spine had nothing to do with the temperature.

* * *

After duly admiring the corner of the kitchen the children had decided was the best location for the planter, James handed them over to Steve and Skye, himself running upstairs to get ready for physio. He showered, shaved, and was soon back in his bedroom, patting his left arm stump dry in preparation for putting on his prosthetic. The raw spot on his arm had calmed down enough so it no longer hurt, but he'd still need to be careful about lifting heavy things. Maybe he'd talk to the doctors at the physio clinic about it, in case they had any ideas.

He dressed in one of his suits, leaving off his tie for the day, and scooped up a t-shirt and shorts on his way out of his bedroom.

Downstairs, everyone was enjoying a mid-morning fruit break. Natasha paused in gnawing at an apple slice long enough to say, "Daddy, what are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go." James dumped his handful of clothing on the counter.

"But Daddy," Natasha went on, pursing her lips. "You are going to physio." She pronounced the word carefully. "When you go you need to run around. You cannot run around in a suit, you told me that."

"I've got a change of clothes," James said, going into the cupboard for a protein bar. "I got some clients to see, that's all."

Natasha went back to her apple slice. Steve popped a grape into his mouth and stood, coming over to the counter. "You ready to leave soon?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the unbuttoned collar of James' dress shirt.

"Give me a minute to shove this stuff into my briefcase and I'm good."

"Okay."

Hurrying now, as it was nearly eight, James went into his office to put his gym clothes, tightly rolled, on top of several project folders, then snapped the case shut. He flexed his metal hand experimentally, wrapping the metal fingers around the briefcase handle. So far, so good.

Goodbyes were said, although the children were far more interested in Skye than in bidding their fathers farewell. In another few minutes, James and Steve were out of the house, heading toward the subway.

Steve let out a gusty sigh as they turned the corner. "What a morning."

James elbowed Steve in the side. "Morning? Try day. This time yesterday, we were fighting something fierce."

Steve turned his smile on James. "Does that make this our twenty-four hour anniversary?" he asked, reaching out his hand.

A cold wave of fear slammed over James' body, twisting him around and away from Steve. How could Steve be so _stupid_ , saying things like that outside where anyone could hear?

"Bucky?"

James stood still, trying to breathe over the adrenaline rush of panic and fear. This wasn't the Army; it wasn't even five years ago. The world had changed. A guy could talk with another guy; even hold hands in this corner of Brooklyn. No gangs of toughs roamed the streets like they did in James' father's day to _beat up those faggots_ , like James' father had reminisced about at least once a month in James' hearing as a kid. It was 2014, damn it, not 1954.

"Bucky, you okay?" Steve asked again.

"Yeah," James forced out. "I'm fine. Just, uh, maybe we better get going."

It took Steve a moment to say, "Sure, if you want," and James didn't know how to read the expression on the man's face. "The train runs pretty often this time of day."

James took a deep breath and made himself start walking. "You wouldn't want to be late to work again."

"The office runs itself," Steve replied, catching up with James. "You want to stop for coffee first?"

James shrugged. "We do, you'll be even later. I've got shit to do before my appointment so I can't get off the train at your stop."

"I can live with that."

Well, that was on Steve. At the next intersection, James turned right and headed to a coffee shop down the block. He often met Maria there for work meetings when he needed to get out of the house, and he knew the place would be busy enough that whatever Steve wanted to talk about would be buried under the noise.

"You get a table, I'll get drinks," Steve said once they were through the door.

"Fine." James slid his way through the crowd over to the one open table in sight. He put his briefcase on the table top, undid his suit jacket button, then sat and waited for whatever Steve was going to throw at him.

It would just be James' luck, if Steve decided that he wasn't up for James' particular damage, and broke up with him a day after they'd gotten together.

"Hey." Steve dropped a pastry bag on the table, following it with two cups of coffee, one black, one a light tan. "I didn't know if you ate."

"Yeah, I did," James said. He moved his briefcase to the floor, tucking it between his feet so no one could grab it without his noticing. "You?"

"Clint didn't want to eat all his cereal so I finished it off." Steve ripped open the paper bag, and tore a piece off the muffin inside.

James, who knew that it was usually best to remove the band-aid quickly, said, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Stuff." Steve shoved the muffin piece into his mouth, then chased it down with a gulp of milky coffee. "Stuff we didn't have time to talk about yesterday, with the kids around."

"Like what?"

Steve gulped more coffee. "How you want to do this," he said as he set his cup down. "I was thinking, about some of the stuff you said yesterday, and I know we talked about some of the stuff you've been through, but I don't want to assume anything."

James stared at Steve. What the hell did that even mean?

"And so, I want you to tell me," Steve concluded, his cheeks pinking slightly.

James stared some more. "In a coffee shop?" he finally said. Not that anyone else around them cared; this was New York, and it would take more than two white guys in suits talking to draw the attention of most Brooklynites off their coffee. "What do you want me to say?"

Steve leaned his elbows on the table. "What you want to," he said. "Nothing else."

James slowly reached for his coffee. It was black and hot, just the way he liked it. "You're going to be late," he said again.

"I'm fine," Steve said. "What about you? Do you have someplace you need to be?"

James shook his head. "I gotta drop off some notes with a client, but their office is only ten blocks from my physio," he said. "I was going to do it on my way over."

"Okay."

"Do you want me to pick up Clint's glasses on my way back to the house?"

Steve brightened. "Could you? It'd get me home faster after work."

"Sure."

Steve's face softened into a smile. "I know Clint will be happy to have his glasses back. How different is that from when he first got them, huh?"

Remembering how irritated Clint had been when he had been forced to go through the whole glass-fitting procedure, James smiled faintly. "He's certainly catching up on everything he missed out on in school. He's reading pretty good these days. In a few months, he'll be caught up with Natasha."

"He's growing up so fast," Steve said fondly. "I hope this new school is good for him. It's costing enough."

Under the table, James kicked Steve's ankle. "That just means, if it ain't working out, you get to do something about it."

Steve raked his hand through his hair, sending the perfectly combed ends into disarray. "This is going to be a weird year," he said. "Especially if Sharon follows through and comes back into town."

At the mention of Clint's mother, James sagged a little. He wasn't jealous of Sharon, not in the least, but knowing how difficult she could make Steve's life… "Any word from her?"

"Not yet." Steve smoothed his hair down. "I hope it's soon, so I can stop thinking about it. You know?"

James nodded. "What, uh, what do you think she'll have to say about… you know. Us."

Steve's eyes flashed. "Nothing, because it's none of her business."

"Her being Clint's mother kinda makes it her business."

"No, it doesn't." Steve drained the last of his coffee. "She signed over custody to me when she left. And all she's ever said to me about you, was wanting to know if you were good with Clint."

James sat frozen, his right hand clutching his cup. "And what did you say?"

Steve stared at James. "Of course you are," he said. "You're one of Clint's favorite people in the world. You know that."

James blinked, looked down at his cup. "Good," he said, and his voice sounded a bit rough to his own ears. " 'Cause Clint's important to me."

Under the table, Steve tapped his shoe against James' calf. "We're a packaged set, me and Clint."

James smiled at his coffee. "Wouldn't have it any other way." He picked up his cup and took a sip.

"Have you thought about how we're going to tell the kids?"

"Tell them what?" James asked when he had finished swallowing.

"About us."

James had no idea what to say. "You think we should tell them?"

Steve frowned. "You don't?"

A rush of conflicting emotions ran through James' mind. He wanted to be with Steve, wanted them to be _normal_ , but how the hell was he supposed to do that? He was painfully aware that he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

"We can wait a bit," Steve was saying, sitting back a little in his chair.

Just for a moment, James wished Steve wasn't so _Steve_. Of course Steve would want to be open about this. His life had been so very different from James', that James didn't know if he could explain himself.

He took a deep breath. He had to try, because he was in love with Steve, every infuriating inch of him.

"I ain't ever done this before," James said, lowering his voice under the din of the coffee shop. "So just… bear with me, okay?"

"Done what?" Steve asked, bending back in to speak at the same level. "Dated while parenting?"

"Dated." James spread his hand flat on the table. He wanted to look away from Steve, but this was too important. "Can we just take this slow?"

A momentary confusion crossed Steve's face, then comprehension and awareness. He put his hand over his mouth for a moment. "Never?"

James curled his hand into a fist. "Only once in high school, and I think we can both agree that it don't count."

Steve bit his lip. There was a new expression on his face: anger. "I'm sorry."

James used his clenched hand to knock lightly at Steve's arm. "Shut up," he said, without any real heat. "I don't want to talk about that now, okay?"

"I get it." Steve reached out to fiddle with his empty cup. "Yeah, of course we can go slow. Whatever you need, _anything_ you need. Just tell me."

"I will." Unclenching his hand, James picked up his cup to finish the last of his coffee. "It may take me a while to work up to holding hands in the middle of the street, though."

"Okay." As he spoke, Steve pressed his foot against James' ankle again, but gently. "Can I tell people?"

"Like who?"

"Abraham."

James crumbled the edge of the paper cup. "If you want to."

As Steve's chin went up, James' heart sank. He knew that expression; had first seen it on the first day of second grade, decades before. "You mean a lot to me and I don't want to hide that, especially from Abraham."

"You think he's going to be okay with that?" James asked, remembering the little 'chat' he'd had with Steve's adopted father the day before.

"Yes, I do." Steve's mulish expression softened a bit. "Last night, when I was talking with Abraham about Clint, he asked how we were doing, and I said we were doing okay. I think he can read between the lines, but I want to be up front about this."

James tore the edge of his cup. "You want to tell him now, or when he's in town?"

"Now," Steve said. "Well, soon. I told him I'd call him today to tell him how Clint is doing, so if you're okay with it…"

"Sure," James said, not really certain if he was. He had never had to deal with _parents_ before. "Anyone else you want to spring this on?"

"No," Steve said. "Not yet, anyway."

"Good." James pushed his cup away. "We'd better get moving."

"Yeah, I just need to…" Steve made a vague hand gesture at the back of the shop. "Meet you out front?"

"Sure." As Steve wove through the mass of chairs, James pulled out his phone to check the time. It wasn't as late as he feared; he had more than enough time to drop by the client's office before his physio appointment.

Quickly thumbing to his messages, he saw a couple of emails from Maria, as well as one with the subject _re: girls sleepover_ , which he deleted without opening. He never read spam.

Putting his phone into his jacket's inner pocket, he gathered up his briefcase and made his way out into the humid Brooklyn morning to wait for Steve.

The trip into the city was probably one of the best rides of James' life. The train was so crowded that he and Steve had to stand side by side. It wasn't weird that they were pressed so close together, with the mass of humanity around them. They talked about the children's upcoming school visit, and if Steve wanted anytime in particular for dinner. They were just discussing what to get Skye as a summer wrap-up thank-you gift when the train pulled into Grand Central.

"I'll see you tonight," Steve said as the train slowed.

"Call when you know when you'll be home so I can get dinner set," James said as they shuffled off the train and onto the platform. He wanted to say so much more, that he hoped Steve had a good day, that he would miss him, that he loved him, but those were all thing that James wasn't sure he'd be able to say even if they were alone.

"Okay." Steve smiled at him as he turned to leave. "Oh, and I'll call the optician to let them know you'll be picking up Clint's glasses."

James rolled his eyes. "Steve, go to work."

With a dazzling smile, Steve turned and headed off into the crowds. James, who was only human, watched him walk away. Then he had to hurry to catch the local train that would take him up Lexington Avenue.

He met with his client, briefly discussed a few changes to the plans, and made an appointment to meet up again the following Thursday for revisions. Then he was back out into the street, heading towards the bookstore. They didn't have the book James wanted in stock, so he put in an order, thinking that he could pick it up when he was next in this part of town, then hurried off for his appointment.

After a week away, physio seemed harder than usual. The techs from Stark Industries poured over the prosthetic arm while James ran, jumped, did push-ups and pull-ups and generally worked himself into exhaustion while his doctor mildly observed that he seemed more relaxed than usual. In between gasping for breath, James told the man about his week and what the children had gotten up to; all safe conversation pieces.

When the hard part of the session was completed, James had to endure a close examination of his arm stump and the raw spot on his skin. After a few minutes, the doctor warned James against using the prosthetic too much until the skin had completely healed, and sent him away with a recommendation for a moisturizer to help keep the scars supple.

James headed for the showers while the techs finished up with the arm. He wondered, soaping himself down under the tepid spray, if he should mention to them that he had met their boss over the weekend, but decided against it. James had a thing against name-dropping.

Clean, James re-armed himself and headed off. Given the late hour, he caught a cab to the optical store, picked up Clint's glasses without any problem, then aimed himself at the subway.

Time to go home.

* * *

"I'm back!" James shouted as he closed the door behind him. "Clint, I've got your glasses!"

The pounding of tiny feet warned James of the approaching stampede. He barely had time to put his briefcase down when the children hurried down the stairs. "My glasses!" Clint cheered. "Are they purple?"

"Nope, they're the same as you had before," James said, letting himself be dragged down to his knees. "Try them on."

As Clint eagerly grabbed at the glasses case, Natasha flung herself over her father's shoulder. "Daddy, we are _so hungry_ ," she said plaintively.

"You are?" James said, affecting astonishment. "Then I'd better make lunch. Clint, what do you think?"

Clint peered around. "They are the same glasses and I can see _everything_ ," he said, satisfied. "I wanna go do art!"

"But I'm hungry _now_!" Natasha said.

"Go find Skye and get your art stuff ready for after lunch," James suggested, standing up. "I'll make lunch and we can eat, now hurry up!"

Clint ran off, Natasha in reluctant pursuit. James went into the kitchen, slipping out of his suit jacket as he went. No point in changing into more comfortable clothes; he had to meet Maria that afternoon, so he might as well stay presentable.

James had lunch on the table in ten minutes. Natasha grumbled about leftovers, but brightened when James pulled the ketchup out for her to dip her cold chicken into. To everyone's surprise, Clint ate five green beans of his own volition, then chased the vegetables down with leftover pizza.

After lunch, the children headed back upstairs with Skye for an afternoon of art and dance, while James cleaned up and made coffee. Maria showed up ten minutes late, used the last of the sugar in her coffee, then they settled down to a few hours of hard work in James' office.

They were only interrupted once, when the house phone on James' desk rang. "Winterhill Security, James Barnes speaking."

"Hi, Mr. Barnes? Natasha's father?" The unfamiliar voice hurried on, "It's Sarah McCarthy, Annabelle's mom?"

"Hi," James said, casting around for the name. "Oh, yeah, from ballet class. What's up?"

"I was wondering if Natasha will be coming to Annabelle's sleepover on Friday?"

"What sleepover?" James asked. Across the room, Maria leaned back on the couch, her eyebrow raised.

"I sent an email to the class contact list," said the woman, sounding flustered. "Annabelle is having her birthday next week and she wanted to have a sleepover with the girls in the ballet class."

James turned to his desk to open his email. "Sorry, we've been out of town on a trip," he said, scrolling through his junk folder.

"Oh, of course," the woman said. "I'm just ordering the cupcakes and wanted to know if Natasha will be here."

James quickly scanned the email. A ballet-themed sleepover, starting at five on Friday and going until ten the following morning, with an entire list of events laid out. "You know what, I'll talk to Natasha and get back to you. Is tonight okay?"

"Of course! You can email, that would be great." She rang off, and James was left to set down the receiver slowly.

"You look like you got slapped," Maria said. "What's up?"

"Are sleepovers for five-year-olds a thing?" James asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Maria came over to the desk to read the email over James' shoulder. "Wasn't Nat's ballet class kindergarten and grade one? Some of those girls are probably seven now, that's a more likely age."

"She's five," James said faintly. The idea of Natasha not being under the same roof as him, even for one night, made his guts ache. "I mean, she should do stuff with her friends. But she's five."

Maria paged down on the email. "If you don't feel comfortable doing it, then she can just stay for the movie thing and then you can pick her up after dinner."

"Wait, you can do that?"

Maria slapped him gently on the shoulder. "You know your own kid. You can figure out if she's up for this, and if you think it's best."

James rubbed his hand over his mouth. He was torn. Part of him wanted to keep Natasha home every night until she went away to college (and even then, there were a lot of nice colleges in the city she could go to and stay home), but he knew that she had to start making steps in expanding her social circle, at least that was what her kindergarten teacher said.

"I don't know what's best," he said, slouching in his chair. "I didn't have to deal with this shit when I was a kid."

"You never had sleepovers?"

"Yeah, but Steve always came over to my place 'cause he was in foster care. But that was in second grade, not this."

"Talk to Nat and see what she thinks," Maria advised. "She may not even want to go."

"Then what do I say?"

"Tell the ballet mom that five years old is too young for a sleepover," Maria said, her expression indicating that she thought James was acting a bit young himself. "Now, can we get back to work?"

Putting his worries to the back of his mind, James turned back to the work.

"It's probably not easy to run a background check on the family, right?" he said after a few minutes.

"Also _illegal_."

Right. He could probably get Skye to do a little light digging, just in case.

* * *

After Maria left, James went to change into his around-the-house clothes, before climbing up to the children's studio. The stereo was on, playing some peppy dance tune while the children boogied around the room. James was quickly pulled into the dance, and he spent a good five minutes showing off his Funky Chicken skills before the song mercifully ended.

"I'm beat!" James exclaimed, falling dramatically to the ground. "I can't dance any more, you'll have to go on without me."

"Daddy, stop being silly," Natasha scolded. "You were in the Army, that's as hard as dancing."

"Yeah, but there's no dancing in the Army," James said.

Natasha crouched over him to pat his cheeks. "You have to move," she said. "You are in the way."

Obediently, James sat up and made his way off the dance floor. Natasha went back to dancing with Skye. Clint, however, came over to James, carrying a piece of paper.

"Hey, Clint," James said. "No more dancing?"

"It makes my head hurt," Clint said, flopping down on the floor. "I gave Skye a flowers because she held my hand and gave me hugs at the playground after I falled down," Clint explained. "And I gave Natasha plants because she gave me popsicles and held my hand when we came here. But Aunt Kimberly says that boys don't get flowers."

"Not usually," James said, crossing his legs to sit more comfortably. "But you can. If you want to give someone flowers, Clint, you can go right ahead and do that."

"Okay." Clint handed his paper to James. "I drew this for you."

It was a pine tree, with purple branches instead of green. "Thanks, Clint, this is really nice."

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "Because you gave me band-aids and you called my Grandpa Abraham so I could feel better."

"That's what you do when the people you care about get hurt," James said. "You try to make them feel better."

Clint took a minute to process this. "So that means that Natasha and Skye and you all like me," he eventually said.

"Yeah, we do."

Clint gave a nod. "That's good. I like Natasha and Skye and you too."

"That's a nice thing to hear," James said, unable to keep himself from smiling. "What about your dad and your Grandpa Abraham?"

"That's different," Clint said dismissively. "They are my _family._ They have to like me."

"They love you very much," James said, refusing to let his own issues with family to color his interactions with the children. "Hey, how about you draw a picture for your Grandpa Abraham? We can put it in the mail this afternoon and he can see it in a couple days."

Clint let out an excited squeal. "Yeah, I'll do it!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "Skye! Skye! I have to make a picture for Grandpa Abraham!"

This set everything into disarray, but after some serious discussion, Clint and Natasha both agreed to draw a nice picture for Abraham, but only if James and Skye would help them out. "To make sure it's the _best_ , Daddy," Natasha pointed out.

"I'm sure that Grandpa Abraham would love anything that you draw for him," James said soothingly.

From the skeptical expression on Natasha's face, James could tell that she thought this was the sort of thing said by someone who didn't know what they were talking about.

"Fine," James said. "I'm all yours. Let's draw."

The things he did for family peace.

* * *

After Skye left, carrying her bouquet and promising to mail the children's art to Abraham on her way home, James took the children out into the backyard. The garden boxes were overgrown, after their week away, so James armed Clint and Natasha with their gardening gloves, a basket, and instructions to get enough vegetables for dinner that night.

They were still at it when a voice drifted out of the house, "Where is everyone?"

"Outside," James called over his shoulder. Steve came through the backdoor, looking tired and rumpled in his suit. He plopped himself down on the step next to James. "Didn't think you'd be here so soon."

Steve yawned. "I have a work call to India at ten tonight," he said, pressing his shoulder against James'. The warmth and pressure was reassuring. "So I took off early. Clint and me will have to leave just after dinner, sorry."

"Don't be sorry," James said. He put his arm out for balance, and if the children didn't see him press his palm against the small of Steve's back, that was for the best. "It's good that you're here now."

"I missed you today," Steve said quietly, looking over at James. His eyes were very blue in the afternoon light. "I kept thinking about everything we've been through, all these years, and especially these last few months."

"And?" James asked. Oh god, _now_ what was running around in Steve's head?

"And I'm just thinking how lucky I am," Steve continued. "That I'm in love with my best friend."

He smiled as he said it, his lips turning up at the corners of his mouth. James was torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to fall over in hysterical laughter. That was the same phrase James had been repeating to himself for months, only in his case it was to crush any hopes he had about Steve, back when James thought Steve was straight.

_In love with my best friend._

"Come here," James said, his voice catching as he pulled Steve towards him. He didn't care if the children saw, or any of the neighbours peering out their back windows. Steve's arms went around James in a rib-bruising embrace. "I love you too."

"Good." Steve moved one hand up to cup the back of James' head. "Bucky, that's everything."

"What are you doing?" came Natasha's voice from behind the carrots.

"They're _hugging_ ," Clint replied.

"Men don't give hugs to men," Natasha retorted as James pulled away from Steve.

"Yeah, they do!" Clint contradicted. "When we went to see baseball, all the baseball men hugged. And Uncle Tony gives hugs to Uncle Bruce and to Uncle Rhodey and even once a time to my dad."

James raised his eyebrows at Steve, who shook his head ruefully. "Tony's a very private person," Steve said. "But he's a good friend."

"It's good to have friends," James said, keeping his tone light as the children approached with their vegetable-filled basket.

"Daddy, you gave Steve a hug," Natasha informed him, setting her gardening gloves on the bottom step.

"I did," James agreed as he searched around for an explanation for his daughter that didn't include introducing Steve as his boyfriend. "Steve is my best friend. That was a best friend hug."

"Cool!" exclaimed Clint as he lunged for Natasha, picking her up around the middle and giving her a squeeze. "Best friend hug!"

"Put me down!" Natasha yelled. Clint dropped her and she staggered. "Okay, do it again!"

James and Steve separated the children before someone got dropped off the steps. "Time to start making dinner," James announced when the shenanigans had tapered off. "I'm on salads, Steve's on meat. Clint, do you want to help me make the salad?"

"Okay," Clint said, reaching out for the bucket. "I will cut the carrots so small!"

"I'll help Steve," Natasha declared. "We will have hot dogs."

"We'll see what's in the fridge," Steve said, scooping the little girl up. "We need to wash all that dirt off you first."

"You too," James said to Clint. "Wash your hands, then chopping."

"Aw man," Clint moaned, but he let himself be herded into the house.

Dinner came together surprisingly well. Clint instructed James on the creation of a salad that, in the boy's words, wasn't _loud or stinky_. Left to her own devices with Steve, Natasha had constructed a platter of cold chicken, cheese, and some hard-boiled eggs. James rounded out the meal with a pot of buttered noodles so no one would leave the table hungry.

Perhaps encouraged by his culinary experiment, Clint ate a whole bowl of salad. James was entertained watching Steve hold his tongue as Clint explained why salad was okay now, and his salad was _the best of all, Daddy, listen to me, it's not gross like your salad_.

After the meal, Steve offered to help clean up, but James brushed him off. "Take your kid home," James said as everyone carried their plates to the sink. "You got that call. I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"I owe you one," Steve said. "I'll make it up to you, okay? Dinner tomorrow is on me."

"Deal," James said. "Hey, kids, time for Clint to go home. Can you help Clint get ready to go, Nat?"

"Yes, Daddy!" Natasha bellowed, then raced Clint out of the kitchen. 

Steve waited until the children were gone before he said, "Holy shit, Bucky, did you see how much salad Clint ate? There had to be at least four different kinds of vegetables in there."

"I think I've got him figured out," James said. "Just make the vegetables small enough so he doesn't have to do much chewing."

"I can't believe it," Steve said. "Bucky, you're amazing."

"No, I'm not," James said, uncomfortable with the obvious adoration on Steve's face. "I can just use a knife well, that's all."

Steve caught James' elbow pulling him in close. "Amazing," Steve said again, and kissed James.

Caught by surprise, James' only reaction was to kiss Steve back, lips soft on his. As they kissed, Steve's hands slid down James' back to rest on his waist. James jumped as one of Steve's hands slid under the hem of his shirt, touching his bare skin.

"Hey," Steve said, holding James gently as James tried to breathe around the spike of his reaction. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," James whispered, pressing his forehead against Steve's cheek. "It's good."

"You jumped the same way when I was putting sunscreen on your back at the beach," Steve went on, his voice quiet. "What's up?"

James slid his right hand around the back of Steve's neck, while his prosthetic hand moved to rest on Steve's hip. It took him a few tries to say, "The only people who's been touching me under my clothes these last few years 's been medics and doctors."

Steve breathed warm against James' neck. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

James let out a wheezing laugh. "Uncomfortable ain't the word I'd use." Overhead, he could hear the pounding of descending feet. Reluctantly, James stepped back from the embrace. "I just need a bit of time to get used to stuff, that's all."

"Tell me what you need from me," Steve said, staring deep into James' eyes. "Anything at all."

Tentatively, James reached out to touch Steve's hand. "Just get your boy home safe and we'll see you tomorrow," he said.

Paying the screaming children in the other room no mind, Steve put his other hand over James' for a long moment. "Text me if you need anything," Steve said as he slowly stepped away. "Any time, day or night."

"Sure," James said. "Same for you, too."

With renewed energy, the children stampeded into the kitchen. "I'm ready to go home, Daddy!" Clint shouted. "Bye James!"

Goodbyes were said, hugs given, and soon Clint and Steve were heading down the sidewalk toward the subway. Natasha stood on the front step and waved at Clint until he and his father turned the corner. Then she sat down. "Whew," she said dramatically. "Being a best friend is hard work."

"Sure is, sweet pea." James lowered himself onto the step beside Natasha. "Did you have a good day?"

"I had a great day!" Natasha exclaimed. "I got a plant present, and we did dance, and art, and gardening, and I cooked food! Even if Steve helped."

"You did a lot today." James patted Natasha on the head, and she laughed, batting his hand away. "Hey, Nat, do you remember Annabelle from dance class?"

"Of course," Natasha said, rolling her eyes at the obtuseness of the old. "Annabelle was the green butterfly in our recital. She has a little brother, and her brother is a _baby_."

"Do you like her?"

Natasha shrugged. "I guess. Why?"

"Annabelle's mother called me today to invite you to Annabelle's sleepover on Friday."

Natasha's eyes went wide. "A sleepover?" she squeaked. "Daddy, I love sleepovers! Can Clint come?"

It took James a few minutes to explain that no, Clint wasn't invited, this was just girls from ballet class, and there were all sorts of fun events planned with cupcakes and popcorn and a movie.

When he stopped talking, Natasha was frowning. "I don't know if I want to go if Clint can't come too," she said. "But I want to do the dance things too."

"You can do things without Clint, Nat, just like he does things without you," James said.

"Like what?"

"Well, Clint goes to his archery class, and you go to ballet in the school year," James said. "And you read different books too, and like different foods."

"If I go to the sleepover, will Clint be mad at me?" Natasha asked, still frowning.

"Absolutely not," James said firmly. "You guys do a lot of things together but you also have things you like to do by yourself, and that's what best friends do." It was obvious that Natasha still had her doubts. "Look, sweet pea, I know you've got a lot to think about, but I told Annabelle's mother that I was going to email her back tonight. Do you think you can make a decision?"

Natasha clenched her fists. "Okay," she declared, face grim. "I will go to Annabelle's sleepover, even without Clint. I will do it!"

"Good plan," James said, even as his heart quailed at the thought of Natasha sleeping over at someone else's house. But Maria had been right – he knew his own daughter, and he knew that she could handle herself in new situations.

And hell, if everything got FUBAR'd, James could just drive the twenty blocks and bring Natasha back home.

That thought cheered him up immensely.

* * *

When Natasha was upstairs brushing her teeth before bed, James emailed Natasha's attendance to the ballet mother. Then, father and daughter re-read Pippi Longstocking until bedtime, and Natasha snuggled down into a sea of stuffed animals to sleep.

James puttered around the house, doing a bit of laundry and finishing up in the kitchen. It had been one hell of a day, but a good day. The children were fine, and Clint's head was getting better. And Steve…

James slowed in his wiping of the counter. Steve had kissed him, and said that he loved him, and hadn't said James was messed up when James kept freaking out at normal things.

Well, maybe normal for normal people. James was quite aware that his life hadn't exactly been normal.

Whatever. James was who he was. If Steve wanted to get involved with someone like him, that was on Steve's lookout.

With the house clean, James went into his office to get a few more work emails out of the way before bed. He had a hard time getting down to business; it took him a while to realize that he wanted to talk to Steve, like they'd talked the night before. But Steve had said that he had a business call at ten, and then it would be too late for him to talk.

James only hesitated for a moment before opening up an email.

_Subject: hey_

_hey steve its me. nat's in bed n everything is ready for tmrw. nat has a sleepovr at a dance class kids house on friday wow when did i get so old. i will take kids 2 libray tmrw afternoon after skye leaves so bring clints library card ;p bucky_

James hit the send button, then turned the computer off and went up to bed.

* * *

Wednesday morning arrived without incident. James woke to his alarm at five-thirty, pulled on some work-out clothes, and went down to the basement for a run on the treadmill. When he came back upstairs, dripping sweat, Natasha was still sound asleep. 

James went back to his room to grab his phone, taking it into the bathroom with him. At some point in the night, Steve had emailed him back.

_Subject: re: hey_

_Hi Bucky. Wow about the sleepover. I think Clint would have been too young when he was five for a sleepover at a friend's house, but I might even say that now about anyplace that isn't your place._

_I'll bring Clint's library card and his book bag, and (sorry to do this to you) a book he forgot to take back to the library. And money for the fine : <_

_Thanks for talking to me yesterday. And I hope we can keep talking :D and other stuff too._

_See you tomorrow_

_S_

James frowned at his phone. What exactly did Steve mean by _other stuff_? He knew the answer to that, of course, and the answer was probably sex.

James set his phone on the counter before he shed his sweaty gym clothes. Of course Steve was thinking about sex; he was a guy, and guys thought about sex all the time. That was the message James had gotten from every corner of society in his thirty-two years. Only before, that had all been academic, as there weren't exactly a line of people looking to be in a relationship with a one-armed veteran with a kid.

It wasn't academic any more. Steve would want to have sex with James, that was probably what that _other stuff_ comment meant.

James didn't know what he thought about that. He was pretty sure that he wanted to have sex with Steve. But when it came down to it, would Steve want to have sex with him?

Glancing up at his reflection in the mirror, James saw a tall man, with more softness around the middle than he liked, and scars along his left side from the bomb. He turned so his left arm stump reflected clearly in the glass. The time at the beach had given him a tan, but that just made the long-healed scars stand out even more.

Steve had never tried to touch those scars.

James rubbed at his left arm, feeling the press of the implants under his skin. Well, at least Steve had seen him with his shirt off at the beach; he knew what he was getting into. There wouldn't be any shock or horror if James took his shirt off in the bedroom.

If? Or when?

James shook his head and turned for the shower.

As he turned on the water, James wondered if he was more fucked up than he'd realized. Steve was perfect; tall, muscular, strong yet gentle at the same time. His face wasn't too hard on the eyes, either. In fact, as far as James had seen, the only thing not perfect about Steve was his slightly weird big toe, and even that was cute.

So why wasn't James jumping to get Steve into bed?

He turned the water a bit hotter. He'd told Steve he hadn't dated anyone since high school, and that was true, but what he hadn't been able to explain was that he hadn't been with anyone at all since he was fifteen. At first, he'd told himself it was to keep a roof over his head while he lived at home with his mother, then to protect his career in the Army.

But there were plenty of other guys in the Army who'd been having sex that could technically get them fired. He'd thought about it, once, when he was twenty-two and on leave from Afghanistan. He'd been in a bar and some guy had been chatting him up, suggesting they go for a smoke in the alley, and James hadn't been so ignorant to not be able to translate _smoke_ for _quick fuck_. He'd opened his mouth to say _sure_ , but the word had lodged in his throat until he wanted to puke. So instead, James had bought the guy another drink and waited until he wandered away before ducking out of the bar to find a cab and head back to base.

He didn't sleep much for the next few weeks. All the other guys in the barracks thought it was because of the war, and no one said anything.

James was yanked back to reality by a pounding on the bathroom door. "Good morning, Daddy!" Natasha yelled through the wood. "I'm going to watch cartoons!"

"Okay," James shouted back over the hiss of the shower spray. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

He was pathetic, James told himself angrily as he grabbed the shampoo bottle. The most eligible bachelor in all of Brooklyn wanted him, and all James could do was freak out.

Pathetic. And Steve would soon figure it out.

* * *

The morning went according to routine. James got Natasha fed and dressed before Skye arrived, and soon after Clint and Steve showed up. Steve couldn't stay as he had to get to work, so he just gave Clint a farewell high-five, cast a lingering look at James, then was off.

James left the house soon after Steve. He still had work to catch up on and some errands to run before lunch. He headed to a coffee shop a few blocks away to work on some briefing notes, then walked over to the river to stroll around while he talked to Maria on the phone about upcoming work issues.

Their call ended at around eleven, which left James with enough time to head back to his local pharmacy to pick up a refill of Natasha's asthma inhaler. There was a slight delay at the counter, so James picked up a basket to roam the drug store's aisles while it was sorted out. He picked up a bottle of Natasha's favorite shampoo, some purple body wash for Clint, and a few packs of barrettes that were on sale. He had no need for vitamin supplements or adult diapers, yet he wandered through those aisles as well. He was just about to retrace his steps when he almost walked into the wall of condoms.

And wall it was. A dizzying number of boxes in varying color and sizes were laid out before him. How could anyone make an educated choice? James wondered. Off to the side of the condoms was a shelf of lubricants in small bottles. Was there some sort of guide somewhere, or did you have to guess?

James stared at the wall of condoms again. If Steve wanted to have sex, they'd probably have to discuss safe sex and health and all that stuff. And there should be condoms involved, and lube.

Overhead, the store's speakers called out, "Prescription ready for Barnes."

James squared his shoulders. He wasn't about to be intimidated by a wall of condoms. People had sex all the time, no one was going to give him grief about buying whatever he wanted. He was just going to have to cowboy up and get moving.

He picked up one box of condoms. Extra sensitive, it promised, so he tossed that into the basket. The first bottle of lube he grabbed was strawberry flavored, which made absolutely no sense and sounded disgusting. He set it down and moved to the far end of the shelf, grabbed something that looked boring, and threw it into the basket. If Steve didn't like it, he could go buy his own damned condoms, couldn't he?

James paid for the prescription and his purchases and walked home, still angry. It had been just over forty-eight hours since Steve had said he loved James; two days in which James' life had been turned upside down more than once. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, what Steve would expect him to do, and it made him uncomfortable.

How was he supposed to know how normal people did things? James wasn't normal, no matter how much he pretended. Some days he didn't pay much attention, but others he was well aware of how much of an act his life was; pretending to be stable and normal. He didn't know what to do in a relationship, emotionally or sexually, and if he asked Steve, Steve would figure out how messed up James was.

Still unsettled, James turned the last corner towards home. He didn't have time to think about that now. He had to get the kids' lunch started, and then he was taking them to the library that afternoon.

He was too busy to think about the impending train wreck of his own life.

* * *

Skye left for class just before two. James had planned to get the kids out of the house on her heels, but due to an unfortunate meltdown over clothing choice (Natasha) and a misplaced stuffed animal (Clint), they didn't leave until closer to three. To save himself any more crying fits, James loaded up the children's library books into his knapsack, took a child by each hand, and off they marched.

Clint slowly cheered with each passing block, reasoning out loud that Floppy must have had a reason he wanted to stay at home that day, and Clint would have lots of stories to tell him at bedtime. Natasha, on the other hand, kept up her grim angry silence all the way to the library, and all because James hadn't let her out of the house wearing her party dress.

"James," Clint said as they approached the library doors, "Did my dad tell you I have a late book?"

"Yes, he did." James let Clint bound forward to pull the door open. "Thank you. How about we return these books first?"

"Okay," Clint agreed. They walked to the book drop, and James eased the knapsack off his shoulders. "Natasha, help me put the books in the drawer!"

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

Okay, that was over a line. "Natasha, come here," James said quietly. She glared at him for a moment, then stomped over to James' side. "Natasha, I know that you're mad at me, but Clint asked you nicely to help him return the library books, and I would like you to help him."

"Why?" Natasha demanded.

"Because some of these books are yours, and I expect you to behave like a civilized individual."

"What if I don't?" Natasha's eyes flashed as she said it.

Oh great. A testing of boundaries in the middle of the Brooklyn Public Library. "If you're not going to behave, we are going home."

"What about Clint?"

James glanced over at the boy, who was watching this exchange with huge eyes. "Clint will have to come home with us, because he's my responsibility while his father is at work. And then he won't get to pick out any new library books today."

Natasha harrumphed. "I don't want to go home," she admitted, and came forward to help Clint put books into the return slot.

"Good," Clint said, still a bit uncertain. "I like books now. I didn't before but I do now."

"I like books too," Natasha said, picking up the last book. "I like books with pictures."

"I like books that tell stories," Clint added. He dusted off his hands. "Where's the library lady where I give the money?"

"You don't pay a person, you put money in the machine," James said, steering the children toward the kiosk. "You put your library card in and it'll tell you how much you owe."

Clint stopped dead. "I don't want to."

"Don't want to what?"

"Pay the computer."

"You have to," James said, not sure what was up.

"No. I'll go home."

"Clint." James squeezed the boy's hand in reassurance. "It's easy. You count out the money, put it in the machine, and you're done."

Clint yanked his hand away and looked down at the floor, making James review what he had just said. It couldn't be anything to do with the machine, and with his glasses Clint had no problem reading numbers. That just left counting out the money.

Had James ever _seen_ Clint counting money?

"Hey, I have an idea," James said, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder. "How about we all go see how this thing works, okay?"

Clint looked up, his lower lip sticking out. "Don't tell Skye," he whispered.

"I will not tell Skye," James promised, and Clint let himself be led over to the machine.

Natasha was bouncing around now, doing her butt-wiggle-dance of impatience. "Daddy, come _oooon_ ," she moaned.

"Natasha, in a minute," James said. "Can you come help us?"

"What are you doing?"

"We're going to count money." James put Clint's library card into the machine and entered the pin. "Okay, Clint, you owe $1.35."

Clint bit his finger. "That's too many."

"That's not too many, that's a week and a bit of overdue fees," James said. "All right, let's see what we got." Out of his knapsack, he pulled the baggie of change that Steve had given him. "What do we need first?"

Clint gnawed on his knuckle. "We need…. One dollar." He held up his index finger.

"Yup."

"That's four quarters," Natasha interjected. "I'll find them!" She dove into the bag and emerged with a pawful of change. She handed four quarters to James, then cast the remaining change back into the bag. "There, one dollar for _you_."

Clint looked at the quarters. "That's enough, let's go home."

James caught Clint's arm. "Hey, we're almost there," he said. "We have one dollar. What do we need next?"

Clint stared at the terminal screen. "Three," he whispered.

"That's right, three tens."

"Tens is a dime," Natasha put in.

"What's that?" Clint asked, grabbing a handful of change. "Which ten is a dime?"

"It's the smallest coin," James said, then made himself keep quiet for the children to figure this out.

Clint pulled a penny out of his handful of change and stared at it intently. "No," he said before Natasha could chime in. "This says _one_. One cent." He dropped it back in the bag. "Maybe it's this." And he picked up a dime.

"Yeah," Natasha said. She was now twisting back and forth in place. "And you need _three_."

Clint placed his dime on James' outstretched hand, then rummaged around for more. In a moment, two more coins landed on James' hand.

"Now I need a five." Clint pulled out another handful of change. "There! This one says, five cents."

"Well done," James said. "Are you ready to put the money in the machine?"

"Yeah!" Clint exclaimed.

"Can I too?" Natasha asked.

"You can too but I do it first," Clint told her. He grabbed a quarter and shoved it into the machine. Coin by coin, the children paid the fine, giggling the entire time. Finally, the screen displayed a big zero. Clint jumped up and down. "I did it!"

"Well done," James said, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. "Now, do you want to go get some library books?"

He had to quickly shush the children's cheers.

Natasha dragged James and Clint to the children's section, and the children had a marvelous time. Natasha piled a stack of books she wanted to take home beside her father, while Clint sat in the middle of the aisle to page through a picture book. James sat and enjoyed the brief respite from having to do anything.

"What's that say?" Clint asked, having dragged his picture book over. James read the sentence out loud. "Oh. Can you read more?"

"Sure." James shuffled over for Clint to sit down, and he began to read the story to Clint. As he did so, Natasha zipped back with three more books in her hands to drop by James, then she was off again.

After the story was finished, Clint requested a re-read. When that was done, Clint took the book out of James' hands and said, "Yes, I will take this one," and put it down beside Natasha's book stack.

"You want to look for some more books to take home?"

"Yeah." Clint stood up. "I can take home five books, that's what Daddy says." Then he scampered off in the direction of the picture books.

James was left on his own, penned in behind Natasha's stack. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone to text Steve.

_clint paid book fine ok. lookin at boks where r u_

The response came quickly. _Nearly at your place. I need to put the casserole if we want to eat at 6._

_wait u were srs abt dinner_

_of course I was serious :P it's one of Clint's favorite recipes._

_k. hey clint had sm trble w money tday but he made it thru like a champ_

_What trouble?_

_adding w coins its nbd we cool_

_:( he ok?_

_of course I tld u hes a champ_

_k i'm at your place I gotta cook text me when you're coming home._

_shld b soon_

James put his phone back in his pocket as Clint wandered back up. He had three thin picture books in his hands. "Now I have four books," Clint said without preamble. "I need one more."

"All right," James said. He got to his feet, feeling his bones ache with sitting on the floor so long. "You carry yours, and I'll grab Natasha's books."

He managed to lift Natasha's books without dropping anything, and together he and Clint walked around the children's section. Natasha came bounding up to join them as Clint was looking at joke books. "Daddy, guess what?"

"What?"

Natasha held up a copy of _Little Princess_. "I found it."

"Nat, you already have that book at home."

"But this has a different cover!"

James sighed. It was going to be a long walk back, carrying all the books on his back.

The things he did for the kids.

* * *

"Daddy!"

"Steve!"

"We're here!"

"We're home!"

James staggered into the living room as Steve came out of the kitchen. He had taken off his suit jacket and had donned one of James' aprons, and he looked perfect. "Did you kids have a good time at the library?" Steve asked.

"Yeah!" Clint cheered. "I got to bring home five books, Daddy! _Five!"_

"I brought home ten!" Natasha added, zooming around the living room. "And I gotta read every one!"

"Ugh," James said as he let the knapsack slide to the floor. "I need coffee."

"I wanna read my books!" Clint shouted, diving for the knapsack. "Natasha, let's read a book!"

"Okay!"

"Come on," Steve said, putting his hand on James' shoulder. "I'll make you some coffee."

"You're a lifesaver." James staggered into the kitchen after Steve. The room smelled wonderful, with garlic and onions sizzling on the stove. "What's for dinner?"

"Rice and bean casserole with vegetables," Steve replied on his way to the coffee maker. "Clint always picks his vegetables out, but he likes the rest of it."

"Sounds good." James paused by the stove to stir the onions. "How was work?"

"Fine," Steve said. "We might have to hire a new fundraiser."

"Someone leaving?" James asked as he reached into the cupboard for oregano.

"Extra work," Steve said. "I have to figure out the budget." He turned on the coffee maker, then leaned against the counter. "How was the library?"

"Epic." James told Steve all about Clint's adventure with the library kiosk, then about the book selection process, and Natasha's rapture at checking out her own books. "And I told them that since I was carrying the books home, they had to promise to read every one," he concluded. "Otherwise next time they get to carry their own books home."

"Sounds like you had a great time," Steve said with a smile.

"It was okay," James agreed. He straightened his back, trying to get a kink out of his spine. "Man, what a day."

Steve came over to the stove to check on the rice, simmering away on the back burner. "Hey, so, I talked to Sharon," he said, trying for casual and failing. "She's back in town."

James felt his back muscles tense. "And?"

Steve made shushing noises. "I don't want Clint to hear," he whispered.

"No kidding." James was about to add another retort, but the expression on Steve's face made him bite the remark back. "You okay with this?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "It's just… A lot's changed since Sharon was here last, you know?"

"You mean with me?"

"That's part of it." Steve gave the rice another stir, then put the lid back on the pot. "Before, when she was back in town, she'd stay with us, at my place."

James remembered how small Steve's apartment was. "I take it you didn't sleep on the couch."

Steve's cheeks went pink. "No, I didn't," he said.

James put his hand on Steve's arm. "So now things are different and, what? Sharon needs to find a place to stay?"

"And to get settled with work and stuff, she said." Steve turned away from the stove, his arm somehow ending up around James' waist. "I told her I didn't want her to drop by to see Clint if she has to leave again too soon, it wouldn't be fair to him."

"No, it wouldn't be." James put his hands on Steve's upper arms, feeling the muscles shifts gently as Steve moved. "That's good thinking."

"That's what I thought." Steve was smiling at James now, too close, too warm, and as he leaned in for a kiss, James instinctively pushed away from Steve. 

"I'm going to go check on the children," James said, his heart hammering in his throat. All of the worries he'd had at the drug store that morning came flooding back.

"Bucky, I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," James interrupted. "Don't apologize, I— " He swallowed hard. "I gotta check on the kids." And with that, James hurried out into the living room.

Both Natasha and Clint were sprawled on the floor, surrounded by books. "Shh!" Natasha said to James. "Daddy, we are _reading_."

James took a few deep breaths. "Do you need music while you read?"

"Yeah, a little music," Natasha said, and turned a page.

James went over to turn on the radio. "How's that?"

"Yes," Natasha said distractedly. "Go away."

He leaned down to pat her on the head, ruffled Clint's hair, and went back into the kitchen.

Steve was mixing things for the casserole, his back to James. James left him to it, going to the cupboard to start setting the table. Everything he wanted to say was getting stuck in his throat, and so it was just easier to stay quiet.

After a few minutes, Steve had the casserole in the oven. He piled the dishes into the sink before stripping off his apron. He stood by the window, looking out into the back yard.

James laid down the last fork. He wanted a cup of coffee, or a drink, or to go upstairs and hide in bed for a week. But instead, he went over to stand behind Steve. "When's dinner going to be ready?" he asked.

"Hour and a half," Steve said, subdued.

"Okay." Bracing himself, for what he didn't know, James reached out to put his hands on Steve's hips. When the man didn't pull away, James took another step forward, and rested his forehead on the back of Steve's neck. "I got something I gotta say."

Steve took hold of James' hands and pulled them around his waist in a make-shift hug, gentle with the prosthetic. "What's that?"

James breathed out. It had been easier to tell Steve he'd never dated anyone since high school; mostly because he knew Steve wouldn't look past that. But he couldn't just leave that lingering, not when he'd promised Steve he'd always tell him the truth.

And this wasn't something James wanted to pretend about.

Steve was rubbing the back of James' hand, and that helped. This was _Steve_. "Yesterday I told you that I never dated anyone."

"Yeah."

James pressed his cheek against Steve's neck, leaning fully against Steve's body. He wasn't sure if he'd ever had anyone to take his weight like this. "Yeah." He took a minute to breathe, around the panic in his head and the block in his throat, and all the while Steve just rubbed circles on his hand and waited. "Thing is, I haven't been with anyone at all since… Since…" He choked on the words. Steve's hands tightened on James' wrist. "So I really don't know how to do any of this, okay?"

To James' utter mortification, hot tears pricked at his eyelids. He pulled his hands out of Steve's to wipe his eyes, and this made Steve turn around. "Hey," Steve said, his touch light on James' shoulders. "It's okay, you're okay."

James let out a choked breath. "I'm a fucking mess." He didn't even know what he was doing as he stepped closer to Steve, let Steve wrap those strong arms around his back and just hold him tight.

This wasn't him. James never broke down around someone else; always held it inside until he was alone to fall apart. And he'd never had someone to hold him while he tried desperately to keep from crying, to keep from appearing _weak_.

He couldn't afford to be weak. He had to be strong. Natasha needed him to be strong.

"I'm sorry I was pushing you," Steve whispered in his ear. "I know you said you wanted to go slow, and I…"

James pressed his cheek against Steve's neck. "Aw, shut up," he said. His voice didn't sound too shaky now, muffled against Steve's shoulder. "You ain't listening to me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, all right?"

Steve kissed James' temple, his breath warm on James' skin. "You're doing okay," he said quietly. "You do what you need to do."

James curled his fingers into the fabric of Steve's shirt. "I don't know what that is."

"Then we'll figure it out." Steve reached up to stroke James' hair. "Tell me when you need me around and when you need me to give you space."

James breathed out against Steve's shoulder. "What about when I don't know?"

"Tell me that too."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Steve gently stroking the back of James' head while James tried to regain his balance. Slowly, James felt the tension and nausea in his chest fade into the background. Maybe this thing with Steve wouldn't be the disaster he'd been expecting.

Maybe this might work after all.

"Whatcha doing?" came Clint's cheerful voice.

James pulled away from Steve, careful to keep his face averted from the boy. Steve replied, "That's a best friend hug."

"Okay," Clint said easily. "Can I have juice?"

"Not so close to dinner, but how about a carton of milk?"

"Sure. Can I have one for Natasha too?"

"Of course you can." James stared out the back window while Steve opened the fridge, then closed it again. "Can you go back and read some more?" Steve asked.

"Yup!" Clint thumped out of the room, and all was quiet.

James was still staring out at the backyard when Steve came over to join him by the counter. "You want some coffee?" Steve asked. "I can pour you a cup."

"Yeah." James watched Steve out of the corner of his eye as the man moved around the kitchen. "I don't freak out like this, you know."

"You didn't freak out," Steve said easily. He set the mug down next to James' right hand.

James turned the mug in a circle. "What I said, about…the stuff that happened to me in high school. I've never told anyone that before."

"Why not?"

James shrugged. "I was too busy trying to keep being kicked out of the Army, back after I joined up. "He picked up the mug. "I figured talking about that would get me discharged. Then after this," and he made a meaningless gesture with his prosthetic hand, "All anyone wanted to talk about was my arm."

"There are other people you could talk to about what happened to you. Psychiatrists, counselors..."

"Probably. Never seemed to find the time," James said, and took a sip of coffee. It was almost too strong from having been left on the heater too long. He took another sip. "No point now."

Steve shifted in to lean against James' left side. "You can talk to me about anything you want, any time," he promised. "And I'll respect your boundaries."

James drank more coffee. The coffee was strong enough to stiffen his backbone, which was what he needed. "Christ, Steve, my dick didn't get blown off with my arm," he said. "Just 'cause I don't know _how_ to deal with stuff doesn't mean I don't want to."

The expression on Steve's face was nearly worth the humiliation of this terrible conversation. "What do you want to do next?"

James set the mug on the counter. "Go one day at a time? Some motivational bull-crap like that?"

Steve cracked a grin. "That sounds like my kind of a plan."

"Shut up." James put his hand out to cover Steve's. "I don't hear you having any better ideas."

"You have all the good ideas," Steve said, turning his hand to lace his fingers through James'.

"And don't you forget it." James squeezed Steve's hand, an unfamiliar euphoria squeezing his chest. Steve understood what he was saying, and why, and all he wanted to do was to help.

Was this what being happy felt like?

"I won't."

From the living room came the sound of elephants, and the children burst into the kitchen. "Daddy!" Natasha screeched. "Come read with me!"

With one last squeeze, James released Steve's hand. "What are you reading?" he asked as he made his way over to the table.

"It's a scary book about monsters," Natasha explained as she and Clint climbed into their chairs. "And you have to read it so we don't get scared."

"I don't get scared by monsters," Clint said as he set his milk carton on the table. "But just in case."

"Just in case," James agreed. Steve slipped into the chair on Natasha's other side, smiling at James and the children. "All right, here comes a very scary story called _Where the Wild Things Are_."

In the warmth of the kitchen, with dinner cooking in the oven and the children and Steve safe around him, James felt something stir in his chest for the first time, a tiny seed of an idea that maybe, just maybe, he was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter’s soundtrack is [At Last by Etta James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOKd8dsqqQU) and you can probably guess what happens there.


	23. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack: [At Last by Etta James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQ45Q7ZuTEs)

* * *

Thursday was a whirlwind of activity. Steve dropped Clint off before eight and dashed out the door with a wink and a wave. Skye took the children to the water park, and they returned home for lunch exhausted and cranky.

After lunch cleanup (James), reluctant naps (the children) and a walk to the bodega for a break (Skye), everyone had a quiet afternoon, reading and drawing in the living room until Skye left at four.

Steve returned from work around five. After he emerged from the mob of huggy children, he suggested they go to the park. Clint and Natasha greeted this idea with screams of joy, so off everyone went to the playground.

Something was up with Steve, James could tell. The man was happy, almost giddy, and James couldn't figure out what was going on. He decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for Steve to bring it up.

After an hour at the playground, James sent Steve home with the kids while he took a detour to pick up dinner. On his arrival back at the house, he was swarmed by the children, and it took a good ten minutes for everyone to settle at the table to eat.

"I like noodles the best!" Natasha exclaimed, picking up her fork. "They look like _worms_."

Clint snorted with laughter. "Broccoli tastes like farts," he contributed.

"No, it doesn't," James said, scooping beef and broccoli over his rice. "And neither does cauliflower."

 "Farts," Clint said again, and dissolved into giggles.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Clint, no talk about farting at the table," he said. "Come on, sit up and eat."

Clint allowed himself to be hauled upright in his chair. "Daddy, can I eat with sticks?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure." Steve reached for the pile of disposable chopsticks. "Natasha, do you want to use chopsticks too?"

Natasha stared open-mouthed, worm-noodle forgotten as Steve removed the chopsticks from the paper wrapping. "You can do that?" she demanded breathlessly. "How do you _know_ that?"

Clint smiled smugly as Steve pulled an elastic band from around the container of egg rolls. "Daddy showed me when I was a _baby_ ," he said. "When I was _three_."

"Abraham showed me this trick," Steve said, flashing a smile at James. Deftly, he folded the paper wrapper into a little tube, put it between the two chopsticks, and wrapped the elastic around the chopstick ends. He clicked the chopsticks together to make sure they worked before handing them to Clint. "Natasha?"

"Me too!" she demanded, making grabby hands.

"Natasha, manners," James said as he put his hand on her back to make sure she didn't overbalance. "You need to say please."

Natasha huffed. " _Please_ me too!" she said, and watched Steve without blinking until the man handed over the set of chopsticks. "Thank you!"

"You're quite welcome," Steve said. He reached for the vegetables. "What about you, Bucky, do you need a pair?"

"I'm pretty handy with the set I got," James said pointedly. Steve grinned.

"Daddy," Natasha said as she attempted to pick up a noodle with her chopsticks. "The water park is my favourite. We have to go there every day." Clint nodded in agreement.

"Not every day."

"Yes, every day," Natasha countered. "And you have to come with us."

"And you too, Daddy," Clint told Steve.

"That's a tough one, because we have to work," James said. "Grown ups can't have all the fun like you kids do."

Natasha gave up on her chopsticks, picking up the noodle with her fingers. "Why not?"

"Because we got responsibilities," James went on. He took a bite of egg roll. "We gotta go to work and make money so we can put food on the table for you kids."

Natasha let out a sigh. "That's boring," she said. "When I grow up, I don't want to be _boring_."

"I won't be," Clint declared. He picked up a shrimp with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth.

"You won't what? James asked, pushing a napkin over in Clint's direction. "Be boring?"

Clint shook his head. "Grow up," he said with his mouth full. "I'll never grow up."

"Oh yeah?" Steve asked. "How are you going to do that?"

Clint swallowed. "I'm never going to get a job and I'm never going to buy a car and I'll never _never_ pay a taxes."

"Is that so?" Steve scooped some rice into his mouth. "Where are you going to live?"

"With you." Clint wiped his face. " _Forever_."

"Forever's an awful long time," Steve said.

"If you're not get a car," Natasha interjected, "How will you go to your archery lessons?"

"I will take the train."

"What if there is no train?"

Clint shrugged. "Uncle Bruce doesn't drive a car and he goes _anywhere._ Whenever he wants."

Natasha frowned. "Maybe I will get a car and I will drive you," she said. "To all the places. To everywhere."

"Okay," Clint said happily.

Steve, who had been grinning at this exchange, leaned forward. "Clint, you can live with me as long as you want," he said, patting Clint on the shoulder. "And Natasha, it's very nice of you to offer to drive Clint around."

"Yes," Natasha said. "It is." She chomped down on a stalk of broccoli.

Dinner continued uneventfully. When the meal was over, Steve corralled the children into helping him clear the table while James ran downstairs to change the laundry. When James got back upstairs, he found Steve and the children sitting out on the back step. The children had hot chocolate in their camp-out night cups, and Steve was reading the next part of _Harry Potter_ to a very attentive audience.

Moving quietly, James cleaned up the kitchen, putting leftovers into the fridge and loading the dishwasher. When everything was in its place, James pulled a chair over to the open back door and sat down to listen to the story. His vantage point also gave him the opportunity to watch Steve as the man was occupied with other things.

Thinking back to when they were kids, James had never imagined that Steve would have grown up so handsome. Steve had been a skinny little runt, with knobbly knees and too-sharp elbows that he liked to jab into James' side when they were playing. Although, if he was being honest with himself, James had been just as small and lumpy back then, and now there were days he could admit his face had turned out okay, in the grand scheme of things.

For just a few moments, James wondered what Clint and Natasha would be like when they grew up. Would they be smart? Would they be kind? Natasha, with her rough start to life, would probably always be shorter than her peers, but Clint, with both his parents being relatively tall, might end up as tall as James, if not Steve.

And then, because James' mind was a treacherous place, James wondered what might happen over the next few decades with Clint's eyes and ears. Might his vision get worse? What about his hearing? He knew that Steve was worried about Clint, and that the recent visit to the paediatrician hadn't eased Steve's mind at all.

Moving slowly to avoid attracting the children's attention, James pulled his phone out of his pocket and made a note in his calendar to follow up on those sign language lessons. With everything that had happened in the last few weeks, he kept getting distracted.

With a flourish, Steve finished the chapter. Over the children's protests, he said, "That's enough for tonight. Clint, we have to head home now."

"But I wanna hear more story," Clint whined, while Natasha pouted dramatically at Steve. "It's the scary part now."

"It's not the scary part." Steve stood up. "We can read more this weekend. Come on, everybody up."

"Ugh." Clint dragged himself to his feet. "I want more _now_."

"Can we have more hot chocolate?" Natasha asked hopefully.

"Nope," James said, standing to help Steve herd the children into the house. "We had a big dinner and it's bed-time soon. No more sugar."

"I want more hot chocolate!" Natasha protested.

"I want more story!" Clint put in.

"On the weekend," Steve said again. "Come on, Clint, go get your stuff packed up to go home."

Groaning, Clint dragged himself out into the living room, Natasha prancing along behind him. Once they were out of sight, Steve slumped against the counter. "What a day."

"What are you talking about?" James said, elbowing Steve in the side. "You spent your day at work. I was here with the kids."

Steve swatted James' elbow away. "What are you talking about? You were working; Skye was with the kids."

James grinned, catching Steve's arm with his right hand. "You ain't wrong," he said as he pulled Steve closer to him. "Is anything up with you tonight?"

"Nope." Steve leaned against James, his body warm. "Why do you ask?"

Out in the living room, they could hear Clint shout, "Hey, where's Floppy?"

"You left him upstairs!" Natasha replied at full volume, even though they were in the same room. "I'll show you!"

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs, then pounded across the ceiling. James shook his head. "Kids."

Steve chuckled softly, pressing his mouth against James' cheek. "They get along really well."

"They sure do," James breathed, his heart beating fast. He could feel Steve's breath against his neck, the rise and fall of the man's chest where they were pressed together. "That's good, though."

"Sure is." Steve turned his head slightly, and James shivered when Steve kissed his temple. "It's good that we get along too."

James put his arm around Steve's shoulders, holding him close. "We always got along, you jerk," James said, smiling against Steve's neck. "That was never our problem."

"Nope." Steve returned to kissing along James' cheek, his jaw, while his hands smoothed up along James' back. When he reached the corner of James' mouth, James turned his head and caught Steve in a sloppy kiss. The man responded instantly, kissing James breathless. James curled his fingers in Steve's shirt, never wanting the moment to end.

Too soon, the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs pulled James and Steve apart. Steve's eyes were wide and dark, and he was gasping for breath as he put a few inches between them. Feeling just a little smug, James said, "Yeah, we get along real good."

"Daddy!" came Clint's high-pitched yell from the living room. "Let's _go_!"

Steve took a moment to straighten his shirt. "I'll be there in a minute," he called. "Put your shoes on!"

"Shoes are dumb," came the muttered reply.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," James said, unable to stop himself from reaching up to smooth Steve's hair into place. "You're okay getting Clint home?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Steve said, although he didn't move. "This time of night, trains are still pretty frequent."

"Even so, you'd better get moving."

Reluctantly, Steve stepped around James on his way to the living room. His fingers brushed over James' wrist, and James had to swallow down on a shudder before he followed Steve.

In the living room, Clint was attempting to stuff a book into his backpack while Natasha supervised from the couch. Steve hurried over to help his son before Clint ripped anything.

"Daddy," Natasha said as James dropped onto the couch beside her. "Clint is going to borrow my library book and bring it back tomorrow."

"Sure," James said with a shrug. "That's nice of you, letting him borrow it."

Natasha yawned. "I know."

"There!" Clint said, standing up in satisfaction. "Now I have my book, and my Floppy, and _everything_."

"His swim trunks are hanging up downstairs," James told Steve. "I washed everything when the kids came back from the water park. Good as new for tomorrow."

Natasha clutched at James' arm. "Can we go to the water park tomorrow?" she demanded breathlessly.

"We will see what happens," James said, hoisting himself up off the couch. "Skye may have some stuff planned. And you've got your sleepover tomorrow night."

"And I'm going to shoot arrows!" Clint put in happily. "I haven't shot an arrow all _week_."

"Tomorrow's going to be a great day," Steve said. There was some tone in his voice that made James look up sharply; something too happy and excited for a discussion of the same old archery classes.

Oh yeah, something was _definitely_ up with Steve.

"Come on, Clint, we gotta go," Steve was saying, his hand on Clint's back propelling the boy toward the door. "We have a train to catch."

"Bye!" Natasha yelled from the couch.

"Bye!" Clint yelled back as Steve pushed him out the door.

James went after the Rogers. "Have a good night, Clint," he said. "And you too, Steve."

Steve flashed James a grin as he picked Clint up. "We always have a good night, don't we?"

"Uh huh," Clint agreed. "Bye, James!"

James watched as Steve bounded down the steps and down the street, Clint protesting as he bounced on his father's arm. Steve was so weird sometimes, James thought as he closed the front doors. But he was sure that Steve would eventually explain things.

"Daddy."

James looked down to see Natasha standing by his side. "What's up, sweet pea?" he asked as he set the house alarm.

Natasha let out a little huff. "What if I do the sleepover wrong?" she asked.

"You won't do anything wrong," James reassured her. He knelt down and Natasha plastered herself against his side. "This is a new experience, and what do I always say about new experiences?"

Natasha sniffled in James' ear. "You go and you try your best and you have fun," she recited.

James gave Natasha a squeeze. "That's right. And you know the best part?"

Natasha leaned back. "What?"

"You already know all the girls who are going to be at the sleepover," James said. "They're all the girls from your dance class."  


Natasha's expression brightened. "Oh yeah!" she exclaimed. "They are nice girls. Except Kate, she's bossy sometimes. But not all the times."

"Everyone has their moments," James said. "Can I tell you a secret that I learned back just before I met you?"

Natasha clutched at James' shirt with both hands. "What's that?" she demanded breathlessly.

"It's that sometimes, life can be really hard," James said. "And everyone is going through different stuff in their life, and sometimes that stuff can be really hard. But they're trying their best, and so are you. You gotta give everyone some slack."

Natasha took some time to process this. "But Daddy," she said after a minute. "What if someone's being mean to me?"

James sighed. He should have known that this would turn into a philosophical discussion. "If someone is being mean to you, you can tell them to stop, or you can walk away from them," he said. "Just because someone is having a bad day, doesn't mean they get to be mean to other people. And," he went on, because he knew his daughter, "If _you_ are having a bad day, that's not an excuse to be mean to me or to Clint or to Skye."

Natasha gasped in outrage at this slander. "Daddy, I don't _ever_ be mean to Clint or Skye!"

"Good." James patted Natasha on the back. "And you know, if you're getting frustrated or annoyed with anyone, you can always have some alone-time to calm down."

"I did that in school!" Natasha said proudly. "One time, Mrs. Singh told me to go sit in the squishy chair and draw a picture of a happy thing and I did and then I wasn't so mad at Charles for being a poop-head."

James was unable to keep from smiling at this. "That's a good thing to know how to do."

"Yeah." Natasha mused for a moment. "When I am at the sleepover, I will try my best! And do new things!"

James held up his metal hand for a high five. "That's the best thing you can do," he said as Natasha slapped his palm. "All right, do you want to go up to your room and get your kit ready for the party?"

Letting out a screech of agreement, Natasha dashed for the stairs.

* * *

At ten minutes to midnight, James closed and locked his bedroom door, turned on the bedside lamp, and flopped into bed. Natasha had been asleep for hours, the house was clean and locked up, and James was _exhausted_.

For a long minute, he contemplated sleeping where he'd fallen, but the uncomfortable press of his prosthesis made him sit up to begin the tiresome process of getting ready for bed.

The night was a warm one, so after James had unstrapped his arm and set it on the charging station, he slipped into a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Going over to the bed, he pushed the blankets to the side before he lay down, pulling the sheet up over his hips as he collapsed. It had been one hell of a day.

After a moment, James picked his phone up off the bedside table to set the alarm for the morning. He saw that he had a new text message from Steve, a little smiley face beside seven exclamation marks.

 _what_ , James texted back. He rolled onto his left side, putting his arm stump under his pillow as he stared at the phone.

The reply from Steve came a minute later. _Nothing I'm just happy :D:D_

James narrowed his eyes. _ura punk,_ he typed. _im goig to sleep night_

_xoxoxoxoxo_

James rolled over to put his phone on the nightstand, then turned off the lamp. Steve was so… _Steve_ , he thought in amusement. Maybe it was like Steve had said earlier that week; being in love with his best friend really was the best thing.

In the dark, James turned his face into his pillow to hide his smile. Being around Steve made him feel secure, comfortable. Being with Steve was _safe_.

He wondered if Steve felt the same way with him.

With a sigh, James rolled onto his back. He was tired, but his mind was moving too fast for him to be able to get to sleep. It had been such a tumultuous week; starting with the lowest point of James' life since his arm got blown off in Iraq, and then soaring to new heights every day, with Steve telling James that he loved him, then kissing him and holding his hand when the kids weren't looking. Just being in the same room together made James' heart beat a little faster. And the way Steve smiled at him…

James shifted his hips, aware that his remembrances of the week's more physical interactions was causing a physical reaction of his own. He reached down to adjust his dick against the press of the thin cotton, wondering distantly when the last time he'd gotten hard by just thinking about someone. He normally jerked off a couple times a week in the shower and that took care of the urge.

But this week was different. This week, Steve had told James he loved him.

James pushed the elastic of his boxers down his hips, far enough that he could pull out his dick. He wasn't thinking of anything in particular; how Steve looked when he smiled, the smell of his hair when he pulled James in for a hug, the way his body felt against James' when they were kissing, and of course the kissing itself.

James gave the base of his dick a good squeeze before going back to stroking up and down his shaft. He could just imagine Steve being beside him in the bed, whispering into his ear about how much he loved him, how much he wanted to be there with James, how good he was going to make James feel when James came…

He was close now, the muscles in his body tensing in that familiar way. James rolled onto his side, burying his face in the pillow as he rocked his hips against his fist. If Steve had been there, maybe it would be Steve's hand on his dick, Steve pressed in along his back, his breath warm on James' neck and his voice in James' ear and—

James let out a hoarse cry as the orgasm washed over him. It took him a few moments to come back to himself, breathing hard. If that was what his imagination could do based off a few kisses and a couple of hugs, James thought hazily, he didn't know how he was going to survive the real thing.

Moving slowly, James pulled his boxers back up over his hips, wiping his hand against the sheets as he rolled over. He was going to have to wash the sheets in the morning, he told himself sleepily. Luckily, he didn't have to be anywhere until eleven.

With a sigh, he snuggled down into the mattress. Hopefully, sleep would come soon, Because he would get to see Steve the next day, and that was the best thing of all.

* * *

James slept through the night and woke up to his alarm. It was early and Natasha was still asleep, so James quickly pulled the sheets off his bed, dumped them in the hamper with the rest of the upstairs linens, and ran down to the basement to do the laundry.

His good mood was punctured when he remembered that this was the day Natasha was heading off to her sleepover. That night, his daughter would be sleeping in a different house from James for the first time since he'd brought her home from the hospital.

He didn't like it.

But he had at least done his homework. With Skye's help on the internet, he had made sure that there were no registered sex offenders living in the McCarthy's building, nor any recent instances of violent crimes. Skye had been able to find Mrs. McCarthy's profile on LinkedIn, and from there tracked her to a few other social media sites, but outside of the woman's obsession with do-it-yourself craft tutorials on Pinterest, nothing had popped.

James knew that Annabelle's father was a firefighter, and with that bit of information Skye had done something cryptic on her computer (that James hoped wasn't traceable back to his network) before pronouncing that he was _okay_. With that, James had let it drop.

He didn't know what he was going to do when Natasha wanted to go away to summer camp for the first time.

Grumbling to himself, James started the washing machine before trudging back upstairs. With Natasha still sleeping, James ducked into the bathroom for a shower. Mindful of how Natasha tended to wander through any unlocked door, he flipped the bolt before stepping into the tub.

Even with the washing machine on, the house's hot water tank was robust enough to heat the shower evenly. James quickly washed his hair, thinking that he might just let it grow out again over the winter. Then he picked up the soap. Steve would be getting to the house soon, James thought as he ran the soap over his chest. Maybe he and Steve could get a few minutes to themselves before Steve had to leave for work. Maybe they could find some excuse to get away from the children, like going downstairs to check on the laundry while the children settled in for the day. Maybe they could lock the laundry room door behind them, and maybe James could push Steve against the door so he could kiss him easier.

James moved the soap lower. Maybe, just maybe, Steve would like being held with his back against the door, James pressed against him in the front. Maybe Steve would put his hands on James' hips, pulling James in closer, so close he could feel the rising situation in James' pants as they kissed. Maybe Steve would like that, so much that maybe, just maybe, he might be unable to stop himself from shifting his hips, so that his erection would push against James', unable to stop himself from moaning into James' mouth as the sensation moved through both of them at the same time. Maybe—

With a final twist of the wrist, James climaxed, dropping the bar of soap as he reached out to steady himself against the wall. For a minute, all he could do was breathe in the steamy air and try to stay standing. What was with him? He couldn't remember the last time he'd jerked off twice in a twenty-four hour period, and now just the thought of kissing Steve was enough to get him off.

When he thought he was steady on his feet, James reached down to get the soap. With a few economical movements, he rinsed the soap off his body, then turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower, dried off, then stepped back into his clothes to head back to his room.

He had just finished pulling his shirt over his prosthetic arm when loud knocking on the bedroom door startled him. Moving quickly, James opened the door to find a furious Natasha. "Good morning, Natasha."

Natasha didn't reply, just glared at him as she clenched her hands into fists.

James sighed. "What's wrong?" he asked as he knelt down.

Natasha stomped her feet, then pointed her finger at James. "I'm mad!" she announced.

"I can see that," James said, catching Natasha's finger before she took his eye out. "Why are you mad?"

"Because!" Natasha exclaimed. "When I woke up, you were in the bathroom and I had to go pee in the _downstairs_ toilet!"

"That's why we have more than one bathroom, Nat."

Natasha stomped her left foot twice. "But it's not _fair!_ " she told him. "The bathroom up here has the soft towels for my hands!"

James sighed again. "Sweet pea, I think this calls for Situation Rainbow, okay?"

Natasha jumped up and down a few times, then said in a more normal voice, "Okay."

"Okay. Do a starfish." James put his hands out and down, arms straight. Natasha braced her feet and put her arms out, like a little starfish. "Now, breathe in for a rainbow."

He lifted his arms up over his head, breathing in at the same time. Natasha did the same, sucking in a noisy breath. When her hands touched over her head, she went up on her tiptoes while she held her breath.

"And down." James lowered his arms, exhaling. Natasha pursed her lips and blew out her breath in an exaggerated fashion. "Okay, another rainbow."

They went through the breathing exercise, which James had gotten from an online toddler yoga video, three more times. At the end, Natasha was calm.

"Better?"

"Yeah." Natasha jumped on her father, her arms going around his neck in a tight hug. "I'm not mad any more."

"Good." James kissed her head as he held on tight. He was going to miss her so much, even for one night. "Do you know why you were upset?"

"I don't know," Natasha said in bewilderment. She leaned back so she could look at James. "I think I woke up like that."

"That's too bad." James patted her back. "Were you mad at a person?"

Natasha shook her head. "Maybe I had a bad dream," she suggested. "Do you ever wake up mad?"

"Sometimes," James said. "But then I get to say good morning to you, and I'm happy again."

Natasha giggled. "You're silly," she declared.

"I know." James pressed a kiss against her cheek. "Come on, how about we go have breakfast?"

"Yeah!" Natasha agreed. She waited impatiently until her father was standing before grabbing his hand. "Can we have oatmeal? Can I have brown sugar?"

"Anything you want, pumpkin."

"Can I go to Disneyland?"

James bent down to scoop Natasha up and over his shoulder. "Anything within reason," he said as Natasha screamed with delight all the way down the stairs.

* * *

Steve texted just as James sat down at the kitchen table with his coffee. _Hey we're outside coming in._

James took a sip of his coffee, then hauled himself to his feet. "Nat, I'm going to go let Steve and Clint in."

"Okay." Natasha was more interested in her cereal, so James patted her on the head absently as he headed into the living room.

After disarming the alarm, James opened the doors to find Clint on the porch while Steve paid the cab driver. "Hey," James said.

Clint looked up at James. "I have archery class today and it's the _best_ ," the boy said without preamble.

"You got that right," James agreed. Out in the street, the cab drove away as Steve hefted his sports bag and Clint's backpack on his way up to the house. "You forget anything?" James called to Steve.

Steve wrinkled his nose in James' direction. "Clint, go on inside," he said as the boy climbed up the stairs. "Me and Bucky are right behind you."

Obediently, Clint scampered inside.

"Seriously, what's with the stuff?" James asked. The sports bag and knapsack were stuffed full. "You got laundry?"

"Funny," Steve said as he brushed past James into the house. "I got some spare clothing for Clint."

James pulled the doors closed behind them as he followed Steve. "You could fit a whole clothing store in there," he pointed out.

Steve set the bags down next to the hall table. "I got a few things in there for me," he said, and James didn't understand why the man was looking so defensive. "In case I want to change after work."

James let his gaze run down Steve's body. It was casual Friday at the office, so Steve was in jeans and a polo shirt. And this being _Steve_ , the shirt's short sleeves were already losing the battle of containing the man's biceps.

A warm shiver ran through James' head as he remembered what he had been getting up to that morning in the shower, and the previous night, when he had been thinking about Steve. To cover, he said, "You going to be back here in time for Clint's lessons tonight?"

"Yup." Steve took a few steps closer to James, not touching, but near enough that James could smell the scent of Steve's aftershave. "You ready for Natasha's sleepover tonight?"

James put his hand on Steve's hip, drawing the man against him. "Never will be," he said into Steve's shoulder as Steve put his arms around James' back. "They're growing up so fast."

Steve pressed a soft kiss against the shell of James' ear. "The kids start school in a few weeks," he murmured. James rested his forehead against Steve's neck, wondering how it was possible to feel so safe and turned on and apprehensive all at once. "In a few years, they'll be learning how to drive."

This broke through the noise in James' head. He pulled back from Steve's embrace far enough to slap the man on the shoulder. "Yeah, like in ten years. Let's get them through grade school first."

Steve grinned at him. "If we can make it through the first day, that'll be a start."

"One step at a time, huh?" James snuck a glance over his shoulder towards the kitchen. The children couldn't see them from this angle. "How about we start the day off right?"

The smile on Steve's face faded into amusement. "What do you got in mind?"

James moved his metal hand to Steve's hip, then his real hand up to slide around the back of Steve's neck. "How about like this?" James whispered, then leaned closer to kiss Steve.

It was nothing like his fantasy from the shower that morning, and so much better. Steve was warm and solid, his hands moving on James' back, his lips soft against James'. Conscious that he hadn't shaved that morning, James kept himself from pressing too far into the kiss.

After a few more wonderful moments, Steve pulled back slightly. He rested his forehead against James'. Both of them were breathing hard. "Yeah," Steve said after a minute.

James ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Yeah, what?"

"This." Steve reached up to run his thumb over James' cheek. "It's perfect."

James smiled, his knees feeling a little weak. "It's pretty close," he agreed.

From the kitchen came a sudden outbreak of hysterical laughter, pulling James back to himself. Steve sighed, reluctantly letting James go. "I should get going," he said. "I'll take my bike into the city, it's a nice day."

"Sure," James said. He was still a little light-headed. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

More hysterical laughter turned James around. He hurried into the kitchen, Steve on his heels, wondering what the children were up to now. But to James' surprise, they found Natasha and Clint sitting at the table, both giggling furiously into their hands.

"What?" James demanded.

"Nothing!" Natasha declared, then dissolved into giggles again. Clint was laughing so hard that he was shaking.

James looked at Steve, who shrugged. "They're sitting nice and quiet," Steve said, although there was a twinkle in the man's eyes. "What could they possibly be up to?"

James glared at Steve as he went to retrieve his coffee cup. "You're all trouble," he grumbled. "Nothing but trouble."

He took a cautious sip from his cup, in case the children had sabotaged the coffee, but it tasted normal. Steve went over to pour himself a cup, which indicated that he would be staying for a few minutes, so James went over to his usual chair. The chair cushion had a strange lump that had not been there before James went to the door. Under the guise of setting his cup down, James gave the scene the once-over. The lump looked round, so probably nothing sharp, and it was too wide to be an egg. With a mental shrug, James turned and, with exaggerated slowness, lowered himself onto the chair.

The resulting _blpfpfpfpfpft_ from the whoopee cushion sent the children into absolute hysterics, which in turn made Steve laugh. James only picked up his coffee cup and said, "What?"

After that, it took some time before order was restored. Eventually, however, the children calmed down enough for Natasha to resume eating, then Clint demanded porridge as well.

"You already ate this morning," Steve pointed out as he went to spoon oatmeal into a bowl.

"Yeah, but Natasha's breakfast is better than yours," Clint pointed out. "She uses _sugar_."

"You had peanut butter toast," Steve returned. "You can't put sugar on peanut butter toast."

"Wanna bet?" Clint crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nope." Steve plopped the bowl down in front of his son. "I gotta go to work, you be good for James and Skye, okay?"

"Yup!" Clint was too busy spooning brown sugar onto his oatmeal to pay attention to his father's departure. James surreptitiously got to his feet to follow Steve out of the room.

"You need any help with your bike?" James asked. He leaned against the wall, watching Steve pull on his motorcycle jacket.

"Nah," Steve said with a grin. He hefted his helmet in one hand. "See you after work, all right?"

"All right." James followed Steve to the door at a slower pace, taking a moment to enjoy how Steve's jeans fit his backside. "Call if you need anything."

Steve paused with his hand on the door. "There's one thing I could stand before I go."

"Oh yeah?" Before he could think more about his own motivations, James leaned in to kiss Steve on the cheek. "Like that?"

Steve's smile was blinding. "Something like that," he agreed softly. He reluctantly opened the door and walked out into the bright morning sunshine.

James closed the door behind Steve, needing a moment to compose himself. He had no idea what he was doing, and things were moving so fast, but everything made _sense_.

Giving his head a shake, James went to the window to watch Steve leave. The man was just putting on his helmet. Once everything was secure, he gave a wave at the front window before turning the motorcycle out into the street, and driving away.

"Daddy!" Natasha called from the kitchen. "We're out of sugar!"

This got James moving. "What do you mean we're out of sugar?" he demanded. "There was at least half a cup left!"

He rounded the wall into the kitchen to find Clint with his spoon in the jar, sugar crystals ringing his mouth. Natasha sat primly in her chair, brown sugar smeared all over her chin. "We need more," she said solemnly.

"More sugar is the last thing you need," James said, hurrying over to physically lift Clint away from the table. "All right, you rapscallions, go play in the backyard until Skye gets here."

Through a chorus of protests, James shooed the children out the back door. He took a moment to look around the kitchen, which had been so much cleaner at the start of the day.

How could children make a mess so _fast_?

* * *

The morning progressed. Skye arrived to take charge of the children, and James went into his office. At around nine, Skye texted to say they were going to the water park, and would be back before lunch. James stopped working for long enough to see them off, then got back to it. Four of Winterhill Security's projects would move to the groundbreaking stage that fall, and there was a great deal of handholding that was required in the meantime.

Skye and the children returned just before one. Natasha's warning shriek of "I'm hungry!" as they came in the door pulled James back to reality.

"We'll have lunch right away," Skye was saying to the children. "Now, go put your wet clothes in the hamper and then come back upstairs."

"I'm hungry!" Natasha shouted again, then ran to the stairs, with Clint on her heels. Skye let out an exhausted groan as she sank onto the couch.

"How was it?" James asked.

"Ever hear the expression about herding cats?"

"Yup."

"This was worse."

"Yeah, sorry about that," James said. "They got into the sugar at breakfast."

Skye sighed. "No, I think they were just excited about tonight." She sat up. "Clint's archery class and Nat's sleepover."

"At the rate they're going, they may not be awake long enough to enjoy it," James said as the children ran back upstairs. "Hey, you hungry or something?"

Natasha flung herself at James' leg. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "I am _so_ hungry I could eat a whole pizza _myself_!"

"Me too!" Clint added, jumping up and down. "A whole pizza! Two whole pizzas!"

"Yeah, well, we got sandwiches and salad," James said, to the obvious disappointment of the room. "Come on, move it, let's get eating."

It took a while, but the children finally settled at the table. Skye deftly turned their attention to a conversation of afternoon plans as James assembled sandwiches to exacting specifications.

"I will read a book," Natasha said after some prompting. "I will read _two_ books."

Clint yawned widely. "I want to draw," he decided. "And I want to go outside and say hello to the dirt in the garden."

James, who had washed too many of Clint's shirts after the boy's encounters with the garden boxes, said, "How about we go to the playground instead? All of us?"

Clint and Natasha looked at each other. "I don't want to go to the playground," Natasha said after a minute. "Not today, Daddy, I have a sleepover tonight."

Clint rubbed his left ear. "I don't want to go to the playground without Natasha, it's no fun," he added. "I will stay here. Maybe I will read a book _too_."

"That sounds like a good idea," Skye put in. "All right, kiddos, how much salad do you want?"

* * *

"Time for Skye to leave!" James shouted into the backyard some hours later. "Come say bye!"

Skye came into the kitchen, her computer bag already slung over her shoulder. "You going to be okay with this weekend?" she asked James.

James shrugged. "What's not to be okay about?"

Skye's eyebrows went up, just as the children burst into the house. She shifted her attention to Clint and Natasha. "All right, are you two going to have a good weekend?" she asked as she knelt down to their level.

"I am!" Natasha shouted. "I will go to a sleepover at Annabelle's house! And we will do dance and I love to dance!"

Clint put his hand in the air as if he were in school. "I will go to archery and be _excellent,_ " he told Skye. "And I will use my new bow and it will be _excellent_."

"That sounds like an awesome weekend," Skye said, smiling. "Now, how about a goodbye hug?"

She was nearly flattened when the children jumped on her.

A few minutes later, they were all sitting on the living room window seat, waving Skye down the street. When the woman was finally out of sight around the corner, Natasha sat back with a heavy sigh. "Daddy, it's been a long week since we came home from the beach," she said. "So long. _Forever_."

"It has been a long time," James agreed. Natasha sat where she was, contemplating the internal philosophies of a five-year-old, while Clint slid to the ground with a thud. "Whatcha doing, Clint?"

"I gotta get ready for to go to archery class," Clint said seriously. "I want to go there _now_."

"You can't leave yet, your dad's not here," James said. He wondered how early Steve was going to get there, and if it would be soon enough to then take Clint home to get his new bow. Steve hadn't brought it with him that morning. "But we can get your stuff packed up, how does that sound?"

"Yeah, pack up," Natasha echoed. She climbed down from the window seat. "I am all ready to go to my sleepover. When do I go to my sleepover?"

"You need to be there at five, sweet pea," James reminded her. He stood slowly, wondering a bit at the ache in his chest. "It's only three-thirty now."

"We can go now and wait outside Annabelle's house," Natasha informed her father. She picked up Clint's library book and carried it over to his backpack. "Then we can be there first."

"Nope." James kicked Clint's socks, abandoned by the television earlier in the day, over to the backpack. "We're going to wait until Steve picks Clint up, then we're going to get your kit and walk over to Annabelle's house. Clint, where's Floppy?"

It took them about ten minutes to locate the boy's stuffed dog, which had somehow found its way into the bookshelf, tucked half-behind some books. Clint hugged the toy with all his might, before running over to cram Floppy into the depths of his backpack.

"You got everything now?" James asked.

"I think so."

"Got all your books?" James asked. Clint nodded. "Got your socks and Floppy?" Clint nodded again. "Got snue?"

Clint frowned. "What's snue?" he asked.

James shrugged. "Nothing. What's new with you?"

He probably deserved the gasps of outrage at the joke, but getting tackled by two children was a bit much.

When Steve opened the front door, he found James, Clint and Natasha all lying on their backs in the living room, looking up at the ceiling as James told a story.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"Holding the floor down," James said, sitting up slowly. "What about you?"

Steve hefted the black case in his hand. "I rode across Brooklyn in rush hour to get Clint's bow. Hey Clint, you ready for class?"

"Yay!" Clint exclaimed, bouncing to his feet. "Let's go! Let's go now!"

"Goodbyes first," Steve reminded his son. "And do you have everything?" Amid the confusion of the next few minutes, Steve paused next to James and said, "You still okay with the sleepover for Nat?"

"As okay as I'll ever be." James hesitated for a moment, but before he could ask Steve what the man was planning for the rest of the evening, Steve slapped James on the back and was moving towards the door.

"Come on, Clint, we've got to get moving!" Steve called. "Come on, chop-chop!"

"Don't leave without me!" Clint cried, running across the floor with his shoelaces untied. "Daddy, wait for me!"

There was another pause as Steve tied Clint's shoelaces, settled the boy's backpack on his shoulders, then hefted the bow case. "Have fun at your sleepover, Natasha," Steve said as he took Clint's hand.

"Okay, I will!"

Steve then gave James an inscrutable look, then winked at him on the way out the door. "I'll call you later, Bucky!" was his parting shot.

James stared after Steve. He wasn't sure what had just happened. He had thought that maybe, Steve would have suggested they hang out that evening, with Natasha at her sleepover and after Clint's lesson. But instead he had gotten the kiss-off as the man ran out the door.

He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Daddy."

James gave his head a shake. Time to think about Steve later. "Yes, pumpkin?"

Natasha scrunched up her face. "Can we go to Annabelle's _now_?"

James sighed. "Let's see what time it is," he said as he made a show of checking his phone. "Well, it's four-fifteen. We can walk over now if you want."

"Yes!" With that, Natasha bolted for the stairs, James following at a more sedate pace.

Natasha's kit was packed and ready to go. James slung the sleeping roll, made up of Natasha's favourite summer blanket and her very own pillow, over his shoulder. "Where's Bear?" James asked as he looked around Natasha's bedroom.

"In my backpack," Natasha said, turning to point. "I didn't pack Dr. Snapples or Tock, they can stay home."

"That's a good idea. And then you can tell them all about the fun you had, when you get home tomorrow morning."

Natasha beamed up at him. "Yeah!"

It took another few minutes to get out the front door, then they were off, for the two-mile walk to the McCarthys' apartment. Natasha bounced along, excited and happy, but for James, every step away from home made his guts ache. His little girl wasn't going to be under the same roof as him for the first time since he'd brought her home from the hospital, all those years before. He wasn't going to be there to protect her. For over seventeen hours, she would be under someone else's supervision.

A yank on his hand, and "Daddy?"

James pulled himself out of his swirling thoughts. "Yeah?"

"This sleepover is for Annabelle's birthday."

"Yup."

"When you have a birthday, you get a birthday present," Natasha said with a frown.

Luckily, James had an answer for this one. "Annabelle's mother asked that we don't bring any presents, that the party was going to be the fun thing."

"But what about a birthday card?" Natasha pressed. "Maria _said_ , when you like someone and they have a birthday you get them a _card_ so they knows you like them!"

"Maria said that, huh?"

"Yeah." Natasha shook her father's hand. "Daddy, _please_!"

"We couldn't'da done this sooner?" James grumbled, but he steered Natasha into the nearest pharmacy and over to the wall of greeting cards by the register. "All right, we have five minutes or else we're going to be late. Situation Cheetah, let's go!"

Natasha snapped into action, looking at all the cards as fast as she could. James was giving himself a mental high-five for creating a code-word that would spur a five-year-old into action when Natasha pulled a card off the shelf. "That one."  


James looked at the card. "Nat, this is a bereavement card."

"It has birds on it."

"Yes, it does," James conceded. "But the message is for someone who is sad about someone who died. You can't give this to Annabelle for her birthday."

"But it has _birds_!"

James shoved the card back into the rack. "Then we find another bird card, okay?"

It ended up taking nearly ten minutes to locate a birthday card that Natasha found acceptable, with a bluebird on the cover and a weirdly inspirational message inside, but James had the card paid for, borrowed a pen from the clerk to help Natasha write her name inside, and had them out on the road only a few minutes behind schedule. The afternoon in Brooklyn was hot and muggy, and James made himself keep a slow pace, so Natasha wouldn't over-exert herself.

Finally, they reached the apartment block where the McCarthys lived. As they got to the front door, Natasha suddenly stopped. "What's up?" James asked.

Natasha squeezed James' hand tight. "What if I do the sleepover wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

James knelt down. "We talked about this, remember?" Natasha nodded. "You go in there and have fun with your friends and be nice to other people."

"And you'll come get me in the morning."

"And I will come pick you up tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp." James tapped Natasha's nose with his prosthetic thumb. "And if anything happens, Mrs. McCarthy can call me anytime."

"Like what happens?"  


"If you get sick, or if everyone has to go home. I'll come get you right away."

Natasha visibly relaxed. "I don't want to get sick, I want to have fun," she said. "Because I will dance, and there is a cupcake, and I have Bear."

James smoothed a strand of hair back from Natasha's cheek. "That sounds like a lot of fun," he said around the sudden lump in his throat. "I ever tell you that you're growing up so fast?"

Natasha made a face. "No, I'm not," she contradicted. "I'm only _five_. Five and a _half_."

"Ever day, you grow up just a little more." James kissed the top of Natasha's head. "Now, how about we go upstairs and settle you in?"

The McCarthys' place was in an old brick building converted into apartments in the last few years. James' practiced eye was unimpressed at the construction in the main areas, but the doors were solid and the walls sturdy.

Sarah McCarthy let James and Natasha into an apartment already filled to the brim with hyperactive little girls. "Hope we're not late," James said once the door was closed behind them.

"No, everyone was just surprisingly prompt." Sarah McCarthy was a woman of about forty, with a shell-shocked expression on her face. "Hello, Natasha, we're so happy you could make it."

Natasha went shy, hiding behind James' leg for a moment. Then a young girl detached herself from the mêlée and flung herself over to the group by the door. "Natasha!"

Natasha grinned, forgetting about the adults. "Happy birthday, Annabelle!" Natasha exclaimed. "I brought you a card!"

Annabelle bounced. "Come on, we're spinning!" She took Natasha's hand and pulled the little girl over to the gaggle of children.

"Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?" Sarah asked as she led James into the apartment's small kitchen.

"No, I should get out of your hair," James said. He waved hello to the baby strapped into the high chair, gumming at cheerios. "I'll just give you Nat's medication."

He handed over a little bag with Natasha's daily inhaler, her emergency inhaler, an emergency contact list and a full medical history in case Natasha had to go to the hospital. Sarah accepted the bag, listened as James explained in perhaps greater detail than necessary when Natasha needed which inhaler, and then placed the bag on the counter next to two other similar bags.

"If anything happens, we'll call you right away." Sarah said, then winced as the baby started banging his hands on the high chair tray.

"Yeah." James hesitated. "Look, this is Natasha's first night away from home and she's pretty young, so if you need to call me, any time, I'll be on my phone."

"Of course."

They went back into the living room and separated, Sarah to stop the girls jumping on the hardwood floors and James to say goodbye to his daughter. Natasha was already wearing a sparkly headband like the others, and waving around a handful of ribbons. "Natasha, I'm leaving now."

"Bye!" Natasha shook her handful of ribbons at another girl, who shrieked and laughed.

"Can I get a hug goodbye?"

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, but allowed James to pull her into a tight embrace. "Bye Daddy, you go away now and I will have fun."

"I know you will." James hung on for another moment. "I love you, sweet pea."

Natasha wiggled free of James' arms. "You are silly," she declared, hands on her hips. "You come get me at ten tomorrow, no more!"

"No more, no less." And with that, Natasha hurled herself into the knot of children sitting in a circle on the floor, where Sarah was attempting to explain some game. James gave Sarah a parting wave, then went to the door.

He took a moment to look over the scene – Natasha sitting cross-legged on the ground, fairly vibrating with excitement as Sarah talked to the girls (only five others, not the squadron they had first appeared). James told himself firmly that Natasha was going to be fine, and that he had to leave and let her get on with her fun.

Taking a deep breath, James opened the door and walked out into the hall. Natasha didn't look after him once.

The ache in his throat moved to his chest as he exited the building. Outside, the sun was high in a cloudless sky, with the hum and bustle of a busy Friday afternoon in Brooklyn. It was bright and cheerful and all James could think about was that he was leaving his daughter behind in an unfamiliar place.

Ten o'clock in the morning had never felt so far away.

Hunching his shoulders, James headed for home. He checked his phone four times on the walk, making sure that the ringer volume was up and that he hadn't missed any calls. But no one did call him, not Sarah McCarthy, not Steve, not even Maria.

Finally, James climbed the front steps and let himself into an achingly quiet house. The place felt empty in a way it never had before when Natasha was away at school or when Skye had the kids out for a walk. The stillness was oppressive, and if James had to stay all night alone in this house he might go a little nuts.

After checking his phone again (just in case), James went to tidy up the kitchen. Clint's archery lesson would be half-over by now. Maybe James could give Steve a call after the lesson, to see if the man needed any company on a Friday night.

Maybe he could text Steve now.

James' hand was halfway to his pocket when he checked himself. He had been dating Steve for a grand total of four days and seven hours. That was far too soon to get clingy. James wasn't exactly sure how this whole dating thing worked, but he was pretty sure that Steve didn't need any emotionally compromised boyfriends slobbering all over his neck and ruining his weekend.

"Cowboy up, Barnes," James muttered to himself. Natasha would be fine, and she'd be home the next morning.

James could handle being alone until then.

* * *

Clint's archery lesson ended at six, and by six-thirty Steve still hadn't called. James, who may or may not have been checking his phone every five minutes, had been productive in the meantime. The kitchen was spotless, the living room in order, and the laundry all done. James had had a few bad moments when he went into Natasha's room to strip the bed. Before she left, Natasha had piled all of her stuffed animals onto her bedspread, with Dr. Snapples the koala on top of the heap.

But James barrelled through the wave of melancholy as he transferred the toys to the armchair before removing the linens, then remaking Natasha's bed with her favourite polka dot sheets before he headed down to the basement.

By seven, James was ready to vibrate out of his skin. Where the hell was Steve? Why hadn't he called James? Was Clint okay? Was _Steve_ okay?

Five more minutes, James told himself as he went back upstairs. Five more minutes, and then he would call Steve himself.

Three minutes later, James broke down and sent Steve a text. _u ok where r u_

The response came back swiftly. _Call you in two min promise_

Whatever. James went into the living room to flop down onto the couch. Everything about this day sucked. His daughter wasn't under his roof, Steve was acting weirder than normal, and James felt gross. Maybe he was getting sick.

Or maybe, he conceded when he next looked at his phone and noted the time, he should have some damned dinner.

After Steve called.

Ten minutes came and went, and James was just about to start screaming when his phone finally rang.

Be cool, James reminded himself, before swiping at the screen. "Hello?"

"Bucky!" Steve's voice was excited, far too excited for a routine phone call. "Bucky, you'll never guess what!"

"Clint made the Olympic team?" James said, unable to keep from smiling at the sound of Steve's voice. Oh god, he was so totally lost on Steve.

"Better. Remember when I told you that Sharon was back in town and wanted to see Clint?"

James sat up. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not a thing," Steve said cheerfully. "Sharon got settled into a hotel on Thursday and she's going to have Clint stay with her tonight. I just finished dropping him."

"What?" For a long moment, James wasn't sure if he had just heard Steve correctly. "You just sprang this on him without any warning?"

"I wanted to make sure Sharon would actually show up," Steve said, and his voice was losing a bit of its excitement now. "She came to see him at his archery lesson, then we both took him over to where she's staying. That's why I didn't call before, I was settling him in."

James had a million questions, mostly around _how Steve could think this was a good idea_ , but he said, "What are you going to do now?"

"I thought maybe I could come over and we could hang out."

James' heart gave a leap. _Hang out_. Just two guys, hanging out together, while their kids were otherwise occupied.

Hanging out in an empty house, where James had a nice comfortable bed. With clean sheets.  


Oh god, what was he going to _do_?

"If you want to," Steve said when James didn't respond. "Otherwise we could just talk like this, I mean, if you want a quiet night by yourself—"

"Get over here," James blurted out, interrupted Steve. "We can hang out, there's stuff around here. I got leftovers."

He winced at the words coming out of his mouth. The most eligible bachelor in all of Brooklyn, and James was inviting Steve over for _leftovers_?

Steve, however, didn't seem to realize what a complete dork James was. "That would be great," Steve said warmly. "I'm just about to get on the train, I can be there in half an hour."

"Yeah, that's great," James said. He stood up. "Half an hour, yeah. I'll be here."

"Good." Steve paused. "You got Nat to her sleepover all right?"

"She's good. Practically pushed me out the door when she got there. How was Clint when you left?"

"He pretty much ignored me from the second he laid eyes on his mom," Steve said, and he sounded amused. "They're going to go to the museum tomorrow morning, then Sharon's going to drop Clint off around noon."

"Is she leaving town after that?"

"She says not," Steve said. "Her work transfer to New York has been finalized. She said she needs some time to get an apartment and that she would like to have Clint sometimes, maybe a weekend once a month. I said we'd see how tonight went, and then go from there."

"Oh." James paced across the living room, too energized to stand still. "That's not… I mean, Clint's still okay to start school in the fall at St. Ursula's?"

"Yes." Steve's voice was firm. "I still have full custody, and that's my call."

"Do you think Sharon's going to change her mind about custody?"

Steve sighed. "I don't know, you know? She said she wasn't when she called last week, but who knows what'll happen when she's been around Clint some more."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" James asked.

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"What's that?"

"Being there for us," Steve said, and his words sent a curl of warmth down James' spine. "Be my friend."

"I'll do anything for you guys," James said, his heart beating a little faster. "You know that."

"I do." There was a pause, then, "I gotta go underground now, I'll lose you. See you in half an hour?"

"I'll be here," James said. "See you then."

"I'll text when I get to your street," Steve said. "Bye, Bucky."

"Bye, Steve." James lowered the phone from his ear. He felt light-headed. Steve was coming over to his house, where they would be alone together for the first time since Monday morning.

"What the hell am I going to do?" James asked the empty house.

He had no idea what Steve would want to do. At the very least, they could watch movies and have a bite. Maybe, Steve would want to kiss him. Or maybe… maybe more.

James told himself to stay calm. He had no idea what he wanted, but he knew he wanted more than just sitting on a couch together watching a movie. He didn't know how far he wanted to go, but he and Steve could work that out.

Him and Steve, together. In an empty house, with a comfortable bed. With clean sheets.

Speaking of clean, James heard a faint _ding_ from the basement, telling him the washing machine was done. That shook James out of his haze. If he hurried, he could get the wet laundry into the dryer, then run upstairs for a quick shower and a shave.

And by then, Steve would be there.

James took a deep breath. He had a mission now, and a timeline in which to complete it. No second-guessing, no regrets.

The speed at which he headed for the laundry room could nearly be classed as a run.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, James was sitting on the stairs leading up to the second story, trying to keep breathing. He'd showered, shaved, and combed his hair so he didn't look too much like a dork.

He had also left the prosthetic arm on his dresser.

That had been the hardest call to make. Steve had seen him without the arm before, all those times they were swimming on Long Island, but this was different. This time, Steve might actually be touching James.

And James didn't want the metal arm to come between them.

So the arm was upstairs (although not plugged in, in case James had to arm himself to go get Natasha) and James was sitting on the steps, waiting for Steve to show up.

Maybe he should go change, James thought, looking down at his outfit for the third time. Sure, these jeans were clean and the t-shirt had sleeves long enough to cover his arm stump, but maybe he should go put on a long-sleeve shirt. Maybe some nicer pants. And what about socks? Should he be wearing socks when Steve showed up?  


Luckily, James was saved from his internal indecision by a ping on his phone. _Turning the corner there in 2 min,_ was Steve's message.

This was it. James stood, slipping his phone into his pocket as he walked towards the door. Steve was going to walk through that front door and it would be just the two of them, alone, for the first time since Monday.

For the first time since they became 'them'.

Just keep breathing, James told himself. All you got to do is keep breathing, and things will work out okay.

Maybe he should go make coffee. Or put some socks on.

A tap at the front door helped James shake off his indecision. Steve, _who had a key_ , was standing out on the front step, waving at James through the glass. Shaking his head, James deactivated the alarm, then pulled open the inner and outer doors. "What?" was the first thing out of his mouth.

Steve was grinning. "Didn't want to bust in case you were busy or something."

"Whatever." James stepped back into the house, Steve following, locking doors behind him as he went. "You still okay with this whole Clint and Sharon thing?"

"Yeah, Clint's going to have a great time," Steve said, kicking off his shoes. "Sharon knows she has a lot to catch up on, but she's going to take it slow. We'll see how tonight goes, and go from there."

"And how are you doing with it?"

Steve ran his hand through his hair. "How are you doing with Nat being at a sleepover?"

"That bad, huh?" James reached up to smooth down the spikes in Steve's hair, an impulsive gesture on his part, and wasn't expecting Steve to catch his hand. Steve's fingers were gentle as they slid through James', Steve's thumb stroking the back of James' hand. For a moment, James forgot what they were talking about. "Yeah. Uh…" He blinked. "It's kind of you, taking pity on an old friend like this."

"It ain't pity," Steve said, his voice so low that the sound sent shivers over James' skin. "Not sure what it is, but it sure as hell ain't pity."

"Good," James said. His heart was beating fast. Damn it, what had he told himself? Keep breathing, Barnes. "I'd hate it if I thought this was charity on your part."

Steve slid his other hand around James' hip, resting on the small of his back. They were so close now, only their grasped hands pressed against Steve's chest were keeping them apart. "This is where I want to be, Bucky. This is the only place I want to be." He took a deep breath. "And I meant it about us just hanging out, whatever you want to do, we can watch a movie or go for a walk or—"

"Or this," James interrupted. He pulled his hand out of Steve's and cupped Steve's cheek with his palm. "How about if I want to do this?"

Steve's breath stuttered for a moment. "Yeah," he whispered, his lips curling into a slow, precious smile. "We can do this."

"Good." Slowly, as if this entire moment might dissolve into a dream at any moment, James kissed Steve. This kiss was different than the ones they had been stealing all week, when the kids were in another room and they only had a moment. This kiss was slow and soft, gentle and unhurried and it was _perfect_.

Without breaking from the kiss, Steve slid his free hand around James' neck, to run his fingers up into James' hair. James made a small noise as he pressed closer to Steve, deepening the kiss, his tongue soft against Steve's. Steve tasted of mint and warmth and James never wanted to let him go.

Steve's hand on James' back slid up and down, soothing strokes. This made James move even closer to Steve's body, and he didn't even try to hide his enthusiasm as his groin pressed against Steve's hip. And from the hardness against James' own thigh, it was apparent that Steve was also enjoying the moment.

After a minute, Steve broke the kiss. "You okay with all this?" he panted, resting his forehead against James' temple.

"Yeah," James replied, staying where he was. It was the first time in decades that he'd been this close to another human being, and he never wanted it to end. " 'cept that you have gum and didn't share any with me, jerk."

Steve chuckled, his arms going around James in a bone-crushing embrace. "It's a breath mint, you ass."

"You should share," James said again, but his mouth was running without any conscious intervention from his brain, which was focused only on Steve. Steve, who was big and strong and made of muscle; who was soft and gentle and made James feel so goddamn _safe_.

"I'll share anything I got," Steve murmured. "Breath mint, shoe laces. I think I even got a half-finished crossword somewhere."

This was too much. James pulled back far enough so that he could look Steve in the eye. "Where do you have shoe laces?" he demanded.

Steve grinned at him. "My back pocket."

It was a gentle jab, more of a tease, but James was feeling empowered and a bit giddy. He reached down into the back pocket of Steve's jeans, sliding his hand over the curve of Steve's butt until his fingers encountered what felt like actual shoelaces. James pulled the object out of Steve's pocket and held it up.

"Why do you have Superman shoelaces?"

Steve plucked the laces, still attached to the small cardboard tag, and tossed them onto the hall table. " 'Cause I got a kid who won't tie up his shoes and I'm running out of ideas."

James shook his head. "What's wrong with Velcro?" he asked, slowly disengaging himself from the embrace. Steve let him go reluctantly.

"He needs to work on his fine motor control, that's what the paediatrician said."

"Steve, your kid can fire an arrow more accurately than any adult I know, he's going to be okay."

"He is," Steve said unexpectedly. "Clint's going to be okay." He opened his mouth as if he was going to go on, but then closed it without another word.

"Hey." James touched Steve's arm. "He's a good kid, and he's got a great dad."

"And he's got you, and Natasha," Steve added. "You're everything to us."

James squeezed Steve's arm, then stepped away to turn on the alarm. "You're great with Natasha," he said. "Don't know if I ever told you that. But she never got so attached to another adult. Well, except for Nick or Maria."

"She's a great kid," Steve said. "And her dad's okay, too."

"Hey, her dad's awesome," James threw in. "Even if he doesn't get her Superman shoe laces."

"I know a guy who could hook you up." Steve rolled his shoulders before letting out a sigh. "So, now what?"

 _Now what?_ James took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what he wanted, exactly, but he knew he wanted to give things a try. "We could, you know, go upstairs."

Steve's smile faded into seriousness. "If that's what you want."

"Is it what you want?" James shot back, perhaps a bit more sharp than he had intended.

"Bucky." Steve stepped forward, both of his hands outstretched. James grabbed one of them, and was relieved by how hard Steve gripped him back. "I want what you want, any day, any time."

James squeezed Steve's hand so hard his fingers tingled. "Just, if you don't… Just say something, okay?"

"I will." Steve put his free hand over James'. "And right now, I want to be with you, whatever that looks like."

James lifted his head. "Then how about we head upstairs and see what happens?"

"Yeah." Then Steve hesitated. "Maybe I should take a shower first."

The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band, and James laughed. "You know where everything is," James said, smiling so widely that he was sure he looked like a fool. "I'll lock the house up."

"Meet you upstairs," Steve said, grinning back at James. He looked around. "Hey, where's my bag?"

"Up in the guest room," James said. "Why, what's in it?"

"I told you, change of clothes."

James stopped in his tracks. "Please tell me you're going to slip into something more comfortable."

"Shut up," Steve said, moving towards the stairs.

"You're ridiculous!" James called after him.

Steve poked his head around the banister. "Rubber 'n' glue!" Then he vanished.

James laughed to himself as he went through the house, triple-checking door locks and window latches. "I'm rubber and you're glue," he said to himself, remembering the old playground taunts. Half the time, Steve had teased him until James snapped and chased Steve around until recess was over. "Bounce off me and stick to you."

Upstairs, James could hear the rush of the shower in the bathroom. Steve would be in the tub now, lathering up the soap, running it over his body, those arms, those legs, and all that torso in between. And soon, James would get to touch all that skin too. His fingers twitched with the idea of touching Steve. No need to worry about excuses like sunscreen, or interruptions, just… them.

The last window checked, James headed upstairs.

Steve was still in the shower, so James went into his bedroom. His whole body hummed with anticipation, along with a quiet, underlying worry that something might go wrong. But nothing was going to go wrong, James told himself firmly. If they got into things he didn't want, he'd tell Steve to stop and Steve would. Same the other way around. James would keep his ears open and pay attention and that would fix that.

Thanking his stars that he had made the bed that morning, James went over to the closet. He reached up to the top shelf, where he hid things he didn't want Natasha getting into, and pulled down the small bag from the pharmacy that held the condoms and lube. He held the bag for a moment, wondering what he should do with the contents. Put them on the bedside table? No, that was too forward. In the dresser? No, too far away. James compromised by putting the box of condoms and the small bottle under the bed on his side, out of sight from the door, but where he could easily reach in case… In case.

In the bathroom, the water shut off. James bounced up, but no, Steve would be another minute. James pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen, but there were no missed calls or texts. He made sure the volume on his ringer was up, then set the phone carefully on the bedside table. If a call came in about Natasha, he would certainly hear it.

He hoped she was doing okay, and that she was having fun, and that she was getting along with everyone.

James sat on the edge of the bed to wait for Steve. The curtain was drawn enough to block any view of the bed from the outside world, but enough light was let in so James didn't need the lamp on. Whatever happened, he and Steve would be able to see each other.

A double-edged sword, with his arm, but there wasn't anything James could do about that.

Footsteps in the hall, and then Steve appeared in the doorway. He was wearing fresh clothes, his feet bare and his hair standing up in little blond spikes, and James had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Hey," Steve said, leaning against the door. "Have I ever said how much I love your hot water tank?"

"Hot water?" James echoed, sitting up straighter. "Man, it's eighty degrees out there, what's wrong with you?"

Steve grinned, his hands in his pockets. "Can't get clean without hot water," he said, stepping into the room. "So, now what?"

James ran his tongue over his lower lip. "How about you close that door and get over here?"

Obediently, Steve closed the bedroom door. He moved across the room to sit on the bed beside James, a few inches between them. "What's next?"

James looked at Steve, skin still rosy from the heat of the shower, and put his hand on Steve's thigh. "How 'bout I kiss you again?"

"Yes," Steve breathed, and leaned into the kiss. It was slightly awkward, with them both sitting with their feet on the floor, but Steve's obvious enthusiasm and that thing he did with his tongue certainly made up for it.

James, unable to withstand temptation, slid his hand under the hem of Steve's shirt to smooth up the man's back. He had been right; Steve's skin was so soft.

"You want me to take the shirt off?" Steve asked in between kisses.

"Hell yeah," James managed. He had seen Steve without his shirt before, but he'd always been so intent on concealing his interest that he hadn't been able to properly appreciate the perfection of Steve's proportions. Now, he could look, and touch. Steve's skin was soft all over; even the hair on his chest and trailing down past his navel was soft.

Then he realized that he had just stroked his hand down Steve's entire chest to his waistline, and he pulled away.

"Hey, no, that was nice," Steve said, catching James' fingers. "You can touch me anytime."

 "You're fucking perfect, anyone ever tell you that?" James asked, tentatively reaching for Steve's chest.

"I'm not perfect," Steve protested, then he flexed to make his pecs bounce. James couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

"Dork." James took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound, whatever the old saying meant. "You'd be okay if I took my shirt off?"

"Yes," Steve said immediately. "Please. Can I help?"

"If you want to." James wasn't sure what he expected, but Steve leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and deep, and when James felt Steve's hands slip under his shirt to touch his skin, he groaned at the sensation.

"I gotcha," Steve whispered. He slowly worked James' shirt up and over his head, then tossed it away. James opened his eyes to find Steve looking at him, not with any revulsion or disgust, but with soft intent. "Can I touch your side?"

It was obvious that he meant the side of James' body with the scars. James took in a deep breath, then let it out. Steve hadn't been freaked out by anything so far, and it wasn't as if the skin hurt anymore. "Sure, if you want."

"Only if you want me to."

James looked down. "It don't hurt, not along here." He ran his fingers up from his waist. "Sometimes, the prosthetic can dig into here." And he pressed his fingers against the scarred skin below his armpit.

"What about here?" And Steve laid his fingers gently on the stump of James' left arm.

James let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Sometimes," he admitted when he could speak again. "When I wear the arm too long, or when it rains and the pressure changes. Sometimes I think I can feel my arm, the way it used to be, but it's just my nerves are all fucked up from the explosion."

Steve shifted closer to James on the bed, until Steve's thigh pressed along James' in a long line. "Does it hurt when I touch you like this?"

"No," James said. Steve was sitting there, _touching his arm_ , and he wasn't running away.

"How about like this?" Steve slid his hand around to cradle James' left arm with a caress so gentle that James had to close his eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

"I like that," James said, leaning forward to press his forehead against Steve's neck. "That's, uh, that's good."

"Good."

"So, uh," James said, trying to get his nerve back, "You want to lie down?"

"Yeah."

Blinking hard, so Steve wouldn't see any hint of tears (seriously, what was _wrong_ with him?) James sat back and waited for Steve to swing his legs onto the bed before lying down. The change in position made James feel a bit better, as did the fact that he could roll onto his left side and put his arm stump out of sight under the pillow.

Once James was settled, Steve shifted forward so that he could kiss James again, soft at first. James grew impatient of this after a few minutes and pushed Steve onto his back so he could lie half on top of him. "Why you movin' so slow?" James asked, revelling in the soft firmness of Steve's body under his. "You afraid I'm gonna break or something?"

Steve reached up to cup the back of James' head in his hand. "I'm enjoying this," Steve murmured, smiling the whole time. "Every second of it."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm a little more goal-oriented than you."

"Good." And Steve lifted his head to kiss James again.

This was a whole different ball game, lying on top of Steve while they made out. James might not have abs as well-defined as Steve's, but he was still pretty fit, and strong, and the idea that Steve was okay with James on top of him, that he _wanted_ James on top of him, was a heady rush.

And James was pretty damned sure that Steve was enjoying himself, if the stiffness in the man's pants was any indication. James wasn't exactly trying to grind against Steve, but as the kiss grew more intense, as Steve's hands slid all over James' back and down to his butt, James couldn't stop his hips from rocking against Steve's.

"Fuck," Steve groaned into James' mouth. James pulled back slightly, unable to keep from grinning at Steve.

"Hey, I'm not the one with the zucchini in my pants," he said, grinding against Steve again.

Steve laughed. "What are you going to do if I do pull a zucchini out of my pocket?"

James rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna ask you what the hell is wrong with you." He bent back down to kiss Steve, while he slid his hand down Steve's side to rest on his hip. " 's'it okay if I do this?"

"Yes," Steve whispered. He looked up at James, his eyes wide, cheeks flushed, breathing hard, and James had never seen anything more perfect in his entire life. "Anything you want, Bucky."

"Like you said, only if you want to." James ran his fingers along the top of Steve's jeans, then ran his hand down to cup Steve's dick through his pants. Forget zucchini, James thought giddily as Steve groaned and threw his head back into the pillow. The man was carrying an entire produce section in his shorts.

"Goddamnit, Bucky," Steve muttered.

"Language," James chided, and squeezed gently. Steve groaned again. "Hey, you okay if I stick my hand down your pants?"

Steve let out a soft bark of laughter. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever asked me," he said, grinning.

"So's that a yes or not?" James unhooked the jeans' button. " 'Cause I want to make sure and all that."

Steve put his hand around James' neck and kissed him hard, deep and sloppy, until James' head spun and he was out of breath. When Steve finally pulled back, he was breathing hard as well. "That's a yes," he panted. "Want me to take these off?"

"Hell yeah," James said, sitting up to help Steve remove his jeans. "Jesus, how do you get these things on in the morning?"

"I jump around a lot." Steve kicked the jeans to the floor and lay back, his erection straining against the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. "You going to help me with this at all?"

"Jerk," James muttered. He hooked his fingers into the elastic of Steve's underwear. Steve lifted his hips as James pulled the underwear down to Steve's thighs, revealing what was possibly the most impressive dick James had ever laid eyes on. "Huh."

"What?" Steve said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Something wrong?"

"I forgot you weren't circumcised," James said as he wrapped his hand around Steve's dick. Steve gasped at the touch, his head rolling back. "I bet that comes in handy," he added, stroking up and down slowly.

Steve moaned, so James gave a squeeze and kept on stroking, rubbing the underside of the shaft on every up-stroke. He felt curiously heady, with Steve naked and trusting like this, his dick hot and thick in James' hand, his mouth open and his eyes closed as he breathed hard. This was absolutely perfect, but at the same time, James wanted to be closer to Steve.

With one last stroke, James slid his hand down to cup Steve's balls. This distraction made Steve open his eyes and look up at James. "Hey."

"Hey." James leaned over Steve's chest, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. "You wanna keep going like this?"

"Please," Steve gasped into James' mouth. "God, Bucky, that feels so good…" His voice trailed off as James took hold of his shaft once more. "God, _yes_."

James half-lay on Steve's chest as Steve wrapped his arms around James and breathed hard, with the occasional word of encouragement. James shifted his grip once or twice, trying to keep from getting a cramp in his arm as he kept working Steve's dick. He tried to memorize everything about this moment; the erection in his hand, Steve's arms around his back, the words coming now half-broken and fevered from Steve's mouth, the faint smell of soap and warm skin and _Steve_.

James pressed his own aching erection, still regrettably restrained by his pants, against Steve's side. "You wanna show me how to make you come?" James whispered in the general direction of Steve's ear.

"Fuck yeah," Steve said. His hand settled over James', and James let Steve guide him with just a bit more pressure and more speed than James would have done on his own. "Oh fuck, Bucky, yes, _yes_."

James lifted his head just as Steve came; saw Steve's face as the climax rushed over him, and it was better than anything James could have imagined. Steve let out a cry as his dick shuddered in James' hand, then his body went lax, relaxing bonelessly against the bed. James let go of the man's dick, wiping his fingers on Steve's leg. "That was fucking awesome," James whispered. Steve made a vague sound of agreement, his eyes still closed.

James kissed Steve's shoulder, then rolled over to grab a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table. He rolled back to wipe the cum off Steve's stomach.

"Gimme that," Steve said hazily. James offered the now-sticky tissues for the man to clean himself up. "Jesus Christ, Bucky. That was…"

"Yeah, it was okay," James teased, kissing the corner of Steve's mouth. "Next time it'll be even better."

Steve grunted as he balled up the tissues and dropped them onto the floor. "What about you?" he asked as he rolled onto his side.

"What about me?" James asked, bumping his knee against Steve's thigh.

Steve was looking at him with a dopey expression on his face, blinking slowly as he smiled. "Can I return the favour?"

James reached up to run his thumb over Steve's cheek. The mere suggestion was enough to make his dick twitch inside his jeans. "If you want."

Steve turned his head to kiss James' palm. "Can I tell you what I really want?" he whispered, a spark in his eyes.

Somewhere in James' head, a thin shiver of unease sounded. "What?" James asked, his mouth suddenly dry. What would Steve want to do? They hadn't talked about what they each liked in bed, not that James had a fucking _clue_ what he liked. What if Steve wanted something James didn't want to do? Could James say no without Steve getting angry?

"Hey, hey," Steve said, sitting up, his face suddenly stricken. "Bucky, did I say something wrong?"

Dimly registering that Steve must have seen something on his own face, James rolled over and sat up, putting his feet on the floor to brace himself. "I'm fine," he said shortly, running his hand through his hair. He couldn't look at Steve; the man must think he was crazy.

He might not be too far off the mark, James thought in disgust.

The bed shifted as Steve moved to sit beside him. "You can talk to me if you want."

James let out a huff. He glanced over at Steve, gorgeous, rumpled naked Steve. Only Steve had pulled a pillow over his lap, so at least James didn't have to have this conversation staring at the man's dick. "We're just moving kind of fast, you know?" James said after a minute. There, that didn't sound like he was messed up. "I just… I dunno."

"Are you okay with what happened?" Steve asked, and there was an empty note in his voice that made James' heart break.

"Yeah," he said, sitting up and reaching over to take Steve's hand, squeezing hard in reassurance. "Everything tonight, it's been perfect."

Steve's hand was strong in his, the man's thigh warm under James' wrist, and the absurdly fluffy press of the pillow against his arm helped James centre himself. And best of all, Steve waited quietly for James to pull himself together.

"I don't know how far I want to go, okay?" James said after a minute of silence. "Don't know what I want to do, neither."

Steve put his other hand on James' wrist, a gentle touch. "Bucky, I'll do whatever you want," he said quietly. "And if you don't know, then we'll do what we do know."

James looked at Steve, raising his eyebrow just a little.

"If you want to sit around like this, then that's what we'll do," Steve went on. "If you want to lie down and chill for a bit, then I'm there for that too." He squeezed James' hand. "And if you want me to get dressed and go into another room to give you some space, then tell me and I'll do it."

"I don't want that," James grumbled as he leaned against Steve's side. "Having you around, it ain't terrible."

"Same." Steve bumped James' shoulder with his.

"And what we did just now, that was okay."

"More than okay." And now Steve was smiling, just a bit.

James took a deep breath. He had to get this out, before he chickened out. Steve deserved to know what James was thinking, in case it might make him change his mind about dating James. "It's that…" He felt a spike of anxiety in his gut that closed his mouth with a snap, but Steve just sat there, holding James' hand, while he worked it through. "There's some stuff that's off the table, you know. Stuff I don't want to do right now, all right?"

"Like what?"

James took another breath. The anxiety and anger he'd had around buying the condoms, freaking out when he thought Steve might ask for _more_ … "I don't want to get fucked," James said, barely managing to choke the words out. "Not now, okay? I need to think about this stuff some more."

"Of course," Steve said immediately. "Anything you want."

"I mean, we can do other stuff," James said, needing to say _something_ to get that expression off Steve's face. He wasn't sure if it was disappointment or anger or what, but it made his stomach twist up. "Like this."

"This is good." Steve tapped his toes against James' ankle.

"We could lie back down and see what happens," James went on. "I could take these stupid pants off and we could lie around for a while."

"I'd like that."

Slowly, James moved back on the bed, waiting until Steve had lain down before unbuckling his jeans. His dick had lost interest in the proceedings during his freak-out, but James didn't really care about impressing Steve at this moment. If the man hadn't bolted from the scars on James' left side, he wasn't going to mind that James wasn't standing to attention below the belt.

After kicking his jeans away, James lay down, going in to cuddle against Steve's side, which again let him put his left arm stump under the pillow where he didn't have to think about it for a few minutes. "Hey."

"Hey," Steve whispered back. He ran his hand lightly over James' right arm, which was draped over Steve's chest. "Okay?"

"Okay." And it _was_ okay, this lying here with Steve, in the room lit by the evening sun. Steve was warm and soft, and he didn't make any objection when James tentatively shifted forward so his dick (which was recovering nicely, thank _god_ ) nudged against Steve's hip. "Do we need music or some shit like that?"

"I'm good." Steve kissed James' forehead.

James closed his eyes. This was better than any fantasy he'd ever had; and all he was doing was lying skin-to-skin with the man he… loved.

He let out a shaky breath. Steve loved him and he loved Steve. But it was more than that. He loved how _safe_ he felt with Steve. There was no other person on the planet who James would ever want to get naked around, and certainly not to lie around with in a comfortable bed on a Friday evening.

Steve moved slightly. "What?" James asked.

"Checking the time."

"Got somewhere you gotta be?"

"Nah. But it's still early."

"We ain't going to sleep yet," James said, lifting his head. Steve smiled at him, so close and inviting, so James kissed him once, twice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything," Steve agreed.

"What were you going to say you wanted?"

Steve blinked. "Oh, that." He ran his hand down James' back. "I was going to ask you your thoughts on blowjobs."

James blinked. "In general?"

"No."

"Metaphorically? Chronologically?"

Steve was smiling again, which had been what James was going for. "No, jerk. On getting."

Maybe there was something wrong with James' head, because he just stared at Steve. "Huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to ask, Bucky, can I suck your dick?"

James' breath caught in his throat. "Right now?"

"If you want," Steve agreed. He ran his tongue over his lip, which was _cheating_ of the worst variety but damn it, he was the one who had brought up blow jobs.

Still, two could play that game. "Sure," James said, trying to sound casual, as if his heart wasn't going to beat out of his chest. "I mean, yeah, that'd be nice."

Steve grinned. "How'd you wanna do it?" he asked, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. "You wanna lie on your back? I can kneel on the floor if you want to sit up."

"I can lie down," James said faintly, because holy _shit_ , the concept of Steve on his knees was an idea he was going to have to sort through. He rolled onto his back, wondering if Steve was going to go to town, but Steve moved in to kiss him, starting off slow and sweet and soon kissing him so deep that James could hardly breathe.

Then Steve started kissing down James' body, starting at his throat, then down his collarbone, down his chest, spending a few minutes on his nipples, then down over his stomach. When Steve licked down James' hipbone, James actually cried out.

"Just taking it slow," Steve said, grinning up at James.

"You're a fucking menace," James said when he got his breath back. "I thought you said you was going to suck my dick."

"Oh, what," Steve said with mock innocence. "Like this?"

And he took the head of James' dick into his mouth, curling his tongue just _so_ , making James' eyes cross. " _Fuck_!"

Steve made a noise of agreement as he moved his head down, taking more of James' dick into his mouth. His hands were busy too, one squeezing the base of James' shaft, the other cupping his balls, and James had never been so turned on in his entire _life_.

"Oh god, Steve, that, _yes_!"

And Steve kept going, taking James' entire dick into his mouth, then drawing up and going down again. After the second round, which made James grab the sheets to stop himself from pressing up to meet Steve's mouth, Steve wrapped his hand firmly around the shaft while he licked and sucked on the head of James' dick like this was the goddamned blowjob olympics and Steve wasn't going to settle for anything less than gold.

James wasn't going to last long, he knew. He looked down at Steve, at those lips, the tongue circling the head of his dick. "Hey," he gasped, reaching down to run his fingers through Steve's hair. Steve rolled his eyes up to meet James', and then he took all of James' dick into his mouth with one deliberate motion. James groaned, stopping himself from rocking his hips up into Steve's mouth. "You keep that up, I'm going to come in your mouth," James managed to gasp out.

Steve came up off James' dick, licked his lips, said, "Good," then went back to work.

Well, there was that. James closed his eyes and let himself sink back into the sensations of Steve's hands, of Steve's mouth, and he felt that drawing pressure start to gather tighter, tighter in his body. "Fuck, Steve, I mean it."

In response, Steve went down on him again, squeezing the base of his dick. As the orgasm hit him, he heard himself cry out, his hand clutching at Steve's hair. He could feel Steve's hands on his thighs, bracing him, as he slumped back onto the bed.

Steve pulled up off James' dick, moving slowly, and crawled up the bed to James' side. There, he lay down beside James and just grinned at him.

"What?" James panted out. "Holy shit."

"I've wanted to do that since the first time I saw you again in the parking lot," Steve murmured, still grinning. "That was awesome."

James let his head roll back, looking up at the ceiling. "Steve," he said once he could breathe again, "The first time you saw me in that parking lot, my kid had shot you in the face with a nerf gun."

"So?"

This was too much. James flopped over onto his side to glare half-heartedly at Steve. "Gee, I just got shot in the face," James said, pretending to be Steve. "You know what would make me feel better? A dick in my mouth."

Steve laughed. "No, more like, 'oh shit, something hit me in the face. And that guy over there is hot, I wouldn't mind hooking up with him'." He hooked his pinkie finger around James' thumb. "And then it was, 'oh fuck, that's Bucky,' followed by 'I wanna get in those pants even more'."

"You're weird," James said, but pulled at Steve's hand until the man was draped over him. Even hot and sweaty, it was nice to lie pressed up against someone like this. "And you need to let me know who taught you to do that."

"Why?"

" 'Cause I need to get them a fucking fruit basket or something," James mumbled. "Fuck, you can suck me off any time you want."

"Good," Steve said, kissing James' throat again. "That's perfect."

"Ungh." James pressed his cheek against Steve's hair. "Give me a minute, Rogers, I'm out of training."

They lay there for some minutes, until the fog in James' head cleared and he remembered his manners. "Hey, you need me to help you out at all?" he asked.

"Nah." Steve kissed the hollow at the base of James' throat. "The first time wrung me out. Maybe later."

" 'Kay." James looked over at the clock. It was nearly nine. "Hey, you know what we could do?"

"What?"

"Go out, grab a bite?"

Steve stilled, then sat up. He had a wondering expression on his face. "In a restaurant?"

"That's where they keep the food."

Steve grinned at him. "This is the best date I ever been on," he said as he scrambled out of bed.

James rolled onto his side to watch Steve look for his clothes. "We're doing everything backwards," he said, but he did sit up. "I thought dinner was supposed to happen before blowjobs."

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve teased, pulling his shirt over his head. "Come on, I got this place I gotta take you. They got a hamburger that's so good, you'll love it."

"They got fries?" James stood.

"Beer battered fries, hot and  fresh every day." Steve hopped twice to get his jeans up his thighs. "And then next door, there's this place that makes the best pie you've ever had, I promise."

He leaned in to kiss James, a quick smack on the lips, then he was out the door, muttering something about socks. James sighed, and reached for his prosthetic arm.

When Steve came back into the room, holding clean socks, James had the arm strapped on, pants and socks ready to go, and was buttoning a shirt. "This place better be as good as you say," James said. "If I gotta put pants back on."

"It's great," Steve promised. He sat on the bed to pull on his socks. "And if you don't like it, we'll come home and watch tv on the couch or something."

James' hand faltered on his shirt button. _Home_ , Steve had called it. James breathed through the moment, wondering how he had gotten here, when only six days before, everything had been going so wrong.

"Hey," Steve said as he appeared by James' side. "Okay?"

"Yeah," James said, finishing with his buttons and straightening up. He looked at Steve, wonderful, perfect Steve, and smiled. Steve smiled back. "It's just, you know. I think I'm happy."

"Good." Steve stepped in against James, to press a kiss against James' temple. "Me too."

The moment hung there, warm and safe, until James shook his head and stepped back to slap Steve on the back. "Last one outside buys dinner," he said, and there was a rush and a hustle as two grown men tried to race each other down a flight of stairs, and that was perfect too.


	24. You Go To My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack: [You Go To My Head by Art Pepper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgxlkyqN_Js)

* * *

"So where is this place you're dragging me to?" James asked as he and Steve walked down the street.

"It's down on Fifth," Steve said. "You'll love it."

"You want me to drive?" James asked.

"Nah, it's not that far," Steve said. He was smiling again, that wide happy smile that made James feel dizzy. "I feel like stretching my legs, you know?"

"I woulda thought you'd be up for a nap, after the day we had," James said, butterflies in his stomach at the memory of what they had been up to in bed, not half an hour earlier.

"The night's just getting started." Steve bumped his shoulder against James'. "And I am _starving_."

James shook his head. "If you were starving, you'd have let me drive," he pointed out. "Come on, I need meat."

"Anything you want, Bucky."

They walked along the streets of Brooklyn Heights, the sun sinking in the west. James talked about what the kids had gotten up to during the day, and their new-found love of the water park, which led into a discussion of swim lessons during the school year. Steve was wondering if it would be better to switch Clint's lessons to a pool closer to St. Ursula's, when his phone rang.

Steve swiped his thumb over the screen. "Hello, Steve Rogers speaking," he said in an official voice. Then he stopped dead. "Clint?"

James came to a halt. Why was Clint calling his dad, at this time of night?

James was close enough to Steve to hear Clint saying, "Hi, Daddy!"

"Buddy, why are you calling?" Steve demanded. "Where's your mom?"

A truck rumbled past, preventing James from hearing Clint's response. But whatever the boy said, Steve relaxed.

"Okay, but why are you calling me if Mommy's in the bathroom?" Steve asked patiently.

James moved out of the path of an oncoming pedestrian. He hoped Clint was having a good time with his mother, and not just because James wanted one night alone with Steve.

"Yes, I know that you know my phone number," Steve went on. "And you know I always want to talk to you, Clint, but I just want to make sure that…" He paused. "Oh, hey Sharon. No, he called me, he said he wanted to try the weird phone."

As he spoke, Steve moved across the sidewalk to lean on the railing beside James. His shoulder brushed against James', sending a happy squiggle through James' stomach. Goddamnit, he was so far gone on Steve.

"So everything's good?" Steve said. He listened for a moment. " 'Kay, yeah, sure, put him back on." He moved the phone away from his mouth for a second. "Clint wants to tell me about his day, you cool for a few minutes?"

James shrugged. "Unless the cops come pick us up for loitering," he said, which made Steve roll his eyes. "Maybe I'll go into the hardware store, take your time."

"I'll find you," Steve promised, then put the phone back to his ear. "Hey, Clint, Mommy says you want to tell me about dinner."

Smiling to himself, James strolled down the block to the hardware store. At this time of night, the store was full of hipster kids and do-it-yourselfers taking up all the staff's attention, so James wandered the aisles undisturbed. There was a sale on knobs and handles, and James found himself wondering if he should re-do the kitchen that fall. When he bought the house, he'd had the walls in the house stripped down to the original plaster and wood, for fear of the baby being exposed to any lead paint, but the structure of the place he had left alone.

Now, though, if Steve and Clint were going to be hanging around more, it might make sense to make more space in the kitchen, maybe even going as far as knocking down the wall between the kitchen and the living room, opening up that entire side of the first floor…

James gave his head a shake. He was getting so far ahead of himself, he couldn't even see daylight. This was his first date with Steve; he couldn't be thinking about those kind of _what ifs_.

He moved on to the hand tools. He didn't need another hammer, but there was a new cordless power drill that looked pretty useful, and lightweight too.

Looking at the battery specifications kept James engrossed until he heard, "Hey, Buck?"

James turned. There was Steve, all large and handsome and most importantly, calm. "Clint's okay?" James asked as he put down the drill.

"Yup." Steve stuck his hands in his pockets, a funny smile playing on his lips. "We talked it through. I think he was nervous about spending time with his mom, once the shine wore off."

"How's Sharon taking it?" James asked. He gave the drill one last pat before turning to leave the store.

"She sounds fine," Steve said. "I told her it might help if she worked out an itinerary with Clint."

"An itinerary," James repeated as he pushed past a hipster in skinny jeans and an overgrown beard in the doorway. Seriously, this neighborhood. "He's six."

"Six and two _weeks_ ," Steve said, knocking his elbow against James' forearm as he caught up with James on the sidewalk. "It's all your fault, anyway."

James elbowed Steve back. "What the hell you talking about?"

"Gave him that watch and taught him how to tell time, now he's all about timetables," Steve said. "I told Sharon to help him write it all out and he'll be happy as a clam."

James shook his head. "He's going to be okay, you think?"

"Yeah." Some of Steve's good cheer faded. "I mean, I told Sharon to call me if he needs anything. It's only until tomorrow morning. He'll be fine. Right?"

"He'll be great," James said. "And if he's not, we go pick him up."

Steve let out a sigh. "You know, I thought with Clint being with Sharon, I wouldn't miss him so much."

"Yeah, fuck that shit, Rogers," James said. "They'll be twenty and coming home from college and we'll still be worrying the piss out of ourselves."

"That'd be okay," Steve said. He slowed as they approached a red light. "You know, when Clint was born, Abraham took one look at him and said he was going to do special things, you know? Like, be a star or something."

"All grandparents say stuff like that, don't they?" James asked. He didn't remember much about his grandparents, all of whom had died before he was in his teens.

"I guess." Steve stepped off the curb with the flow of pedestrians, James at his side. "When Sally's kids were born, he did the whole thing about how they're going to be doctors and lawyers, all that normal grandfather stuff. It was different with Clint."

"Did it bother you?" James asked.

Steve was quiet for nearly half a block. Finally, he said, "You know, sometimes I look at Clint and I can't figure him out."

"He's not that complicated," James said. "Give him a popsicle and his bow and he's good for days."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I never figured this was what being a dad would be like."

James shrugged, feeling the pull of his prosthetic's strap against his ribs. "You're doing great," he said, and the sudden tightness in his throat made him cough. "Clint's great."

Steve's mouth turned up in a weird smile, but the stress was gone from his eyes. "I dunno, I think his nose is kinda funny lookin'."

"Yeah, it's a shame his father was so ugly," James said gravely, and was nearly knocked off the sidewalk as he deflected Steve's punch. "Really, though, a lady as pretty as Sharon, you'd'a thought she could do better for herself than the New Jersey dog-face boy."

"I'm from Brooklyn, you ass," Steve said, laughing.

"Yeah, 'cause that makes it all better."

They walked companionably down the street, heading south and east. Since adopting Natasha, James hadn't had much time to randomly stroll the streets and look around –when he was out with Natasha, his entire energy was focused that the baby was safe; that she wouldn't hurt herself, or that no one was following them. When he wasn't with Natasha, he was too busy working to spend time looking around.

But now, with Steve and nowhere to go but to grab a bite to eat, James was able to relax. Just a little.

"It was strange," Steve said out of nowhere.

"What was?" James asked, dragging his attention back from a shop-front. "Leaving Clint with Sharon?"

"No. Well, yeah." Steve shrugged. "But I was thinking about New Jersey. It was weird, moving there after Brooklyn."

James looked at Steve sharply. "You never said anything about that in your letters."

Steve kicked at a crumpled flyer on the ground. "I was trying to pretend everything was okay, all right? I didn't want Abraham thinking I was ungrateful, and sending me back."

"He wouldn't do that."

"And how was I supposed to know that then, huh?" As soon as the words were out of Steve's mouth, he stopped walking. "Jesus. Sorry."

James stepped under the awning of a closed shop, out of the path of foot traffic. "What's up?" he asked. This sudden change of mood wasn't like Steve.

Steve rubbed his forehead. "I don't know," he muttered. "It's been a while since I got to thinking about New Jersey, and leaving here, and everything. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Is that all it is?" James asked, worry swirling in his gut. "It ain't about _that_ letter?"

The letter James hadn't read, the one where thirteen-year-old Steve had confessed to James that he thought he might be bisexual… the one that would have made such a world of difference to James, seventeen years before.

"No," and this time Steve was firm. "We talked that out, Bucky. It happened and we cleared it up and that's all in the past. This is where we are now." He spread his hands, gesturing at the busy Brooklyn street.

James breathed through the fading spike of anxiety. "Yeah," he said. "And where we are isn't getting me any closer to my burger."

"So let's go," Steve said, stepping back with an inviting smile, and nearly crashed into some teenagers. "Can't have you dying of hunger on my watch."

"So you're okay with me eating your fries?" James asked, matching his pace to Steve.

"Get your own damn fries," Steve shot back. "I can't remember the last time I got to eat my fries all by myself."

"Clint?" James asked. Steve nodded. "Man, I can only wish Nat would eat my fries. Since she learned how to read the menu, whenever we go out, she always makes me order her fries for herself. And then she can't finish." Thinking about his daughter made James pull out his phone, just to check to see if there were any new messages.

"She's going to be fine," Steve said.

"She's never been away from me overnight before," James said. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. "I got these thoughts in my head, you know, like what if she needs me and I'm not there?"

"Then you'll get there as soon as you can."

James knocked his metal hand against Steve's wrist. "Stop using your logic on me, Rogers, I'm freaking out over here."

"Like I wasn't, leaving Clint with Sharon?" Steve said. "All week, I thought it'd be okay, but it was harder than I expected."

"Because you're worried about Clint, or other stuff?"

"I don't know." Steve turned left, and James went after him. "Maybe I'm thinking what it'll be like, with Sharon around again."

"Well, she's not moving back in with you, so that's a start," James said with a bit more vehemence than he'd intended. "You said she's going to want to see Clint sometimes."

"Yeah, she said a weekend every now and then," Steve said. "I don't know if that's going to be good for him, though. He's got school and I don't even know what sports he's going to play this year, and—"

"Steve," James interrupted. "You'll figure it out."

Steve pursed his lips. "I don't want to be the bad guy that keeps a kid away from his mother, but how do I know if it's best for him?"

"You go slow and you make sure he's doing okay," James said. "Maybe you can stay overnight with him a few times to ease him into things."

Steve slowed his pace to glare at James.

"What?"

"How'd you always got such good ideas about Clint?" Steve asked, but his glare didn't hold any heat.

"Simple," James said. "I spent eight years in the Army, similar sort of problem solving. You got a problem," and he held out his right hand. "You apply solution A." He held up his prosthetic hand. "Solution A don't work, you keep going down through the alphabet and back again til you get to CF."

Steve frowned. "What is CF?"

"Clusterfuck," James replied. "Retreat and regroup and send some poor grunt to tell the Captain that we are out of fucking ideas."

Steve sighed. "I hope it won't get that bad with Sharon."

"You'll figure it out," James said. "You got that fancy college learning and shit."

"They don't teach you shit about parenting in art school."

"Like they do in the Army?" James raised his eyebrow at Steve. "Come on. Clint's going to be fine and you're going to make all the right choices." He quickened his pace. "Now if you don't feed me soon, I'm going to get cranky."

"We can always get you a hot dog on the way."

"You say that like it's a joke, Rogers, but I think that fancy college education is finally starting to pay off."

* * *

The rest of the walk was taken up with the planning of the children's fall extracurricular activities. The kids were enrolled in swim class on Mondays, and Natasha had dance class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while Clint's archery class would be moving to Wednesdays. That left only Friday nights open for any group activities.

The restaurant was small and crowded, with the noise around them so loud that they could speak without the worry of being overheard. After ordering, James and Steve talked about the upcoming school year and how they were going to juggle their schedules to get the kids to school on time.

By the time their burgers arrived, the conversation had drifted to talking about their own school days. James deftly deflected Steve's questions about senior high into Steve's recounting of his own days in college, which gave James the space to eat a messy hamburger with a prosthetic arm. All he had to do was nod along in the right places.

And, James was amused to note, Steve still had the bad habit of talking with his mouth full.

After dinner, they walked slowly back to James' house. The sun had set, and the odd freedom of being out after dark without the children tingled along James' skin.

"How would you feel about stopping for ice cream on the way home?" Steve asked as they waited at a light.

James groaned. "If I eat any more, I'll puke." He pulled out his phone to see if he had any messages. Nothing. "If you want some, I'll go with you."

"Nah," Steve said. "Maybe another time. It's no fun without the kids."

They kept up the banter all the way back to James' house. As James unlocked the door, he was struck once again at how quiet the house was, and that gentle euphoria he'd in Steve's presence slowly fizzled away.

"Hey," Steve said from behind James. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." James entered his alarm code into the keypad. "Why wouldn't it be?"

He stepped around Steve to lock the door, then pulled out his phone again. No messages, no voice mails. It was ten o'clock, over five hours since James had left his little girl in a stranger's care. He had been away from Natasha for longer periods of time, but that was when she was at school or with Skye.

A hand closed around James' upper arm. "Bucky," Steve said. In the dim living room, James could barely make out Steve's face.

"I'm fine," James said around the lump in his throat. "They'd have called if anything happened to Nat."

Steve moved closer to James. "It's okay to miss her."

James leaned into Steve's embrace. "It's been a weird week," James said quietly. Steve's arms were around his waist, his body solid and warm. "Nat's at a sleepover and Clint's with his mom, and then there's you and me."

"You and me," Steve repeated, dipping his head to kiss the hollow behind James' ear. "Has it only been five days?"

"Four days and thirteen hours," James said, his voice catching as Steve kissed a line down his throat.

"Months since I found you again," Steve murmured, sliding his hand down James' hip. James, shivering a bit with anticipation, sighed and--

His phone rang.

James jumped, pushing away from Steve as he jammed his hand into his pocket. He nearly dropped the phone as he tried to answer it. "Hello?" he said, heart hammering in his throat.

"It's Sarah McCarthy," came the hushed reply.

"Is Natasha all right?" James demanded. The lights came on in the living room, and James blinked around to see Steve with his hand on the switches.

"She's fine," Sarah said quickly. "But Natasha wanted me to call you because she's having a hard time getting to sleep."

The words popped the balloon of James' panic like a pin; his shoulders slumped as he sat down on the couch. "Do you need me to come get her?" he asked, vaguely aware that Steve was sitting down at his side.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary, but maybe you can speak with her?"

"Sure, put her on." James looked at Steve. "Nat can't sleep," he whispered in an aside. Steve looked relieved.

Then some noisy breathing came over the line. "Daddy?" Natasha stage-whispered. "Are you there?"

"Hi sweet pea," James said.

Natasha shushed him. "Daddy, you have to _whisper_ , people are _sleeping_!" she scolded.

"I'll talk quiet, then," James said. "Why aren't you sleeping, pumpkin?"

"I forgot how," Natasha confessed. "I tried already but I stayed awake."

"Are you having fun at Annabelle's party?" James asked. Steve put his arm on the couch back as he watched James.

"Yeah," Natasha said. "We watched a movie and I ate a cupcake and I got to eat spaghetti for dinner. With _cheese_."

"Wow, that all sounds super-fun." James was momentarily distracted as Steve put his hand on James' knee.

However, the distraction was a useful one. James had an 'out', if he wanted to avoid a night alone with Steve – all he had to do was to go pick Natasha up and bring her home, then say he didn't want to do anything with kids in the house.

But having that choice suddenly made it clear to James what he wanted.

On the phone, Natasha snuffled. "It was fun, Daddy," she agreed. "But _now_ what do I do?"

"Well," James said as he pressed his leg against Steve's, "You go lie down and you hug Bear and you close your eyes and you think about all the good things that happened to you today. And then you'll be asleep, and when you wake up tomorrow you'll have a whole fun morning at the party."

Natasha huffed. "Mrs. McCarthy said we get waffles for breakfast. With sprinkles."

"Now doesn't that sound like a great morning?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think you can try to get some sleep?"

"Okay, maybe."

"Then I'm going to say good night, Natasha, and I'll see you in the morning. I love you lots."

"All right." And with that, a brief fumble, and another voice came over the line.

"It's Sarah. Do you think Natasha will be all right now?"

"Probably, but if she keeps having problems, give me a call and I'll come pick her up. Any time of night."

"I will."

They ended the call, and James let his phone slide out of his hand to the couch. "Ugh."

"Nat's going to be okay?" Steve asked.

"I think so." James shifted so his head was resting against Steve's shoulder. "It was an exciting day and she may just need a chance to calm down."

"And a chance to talk to her dad."

"Maybe." James was watching Steve's hand, slowly moving up his thigh. "She didn't sound upset or anything, that's good, right?"

"Yup."

"Do you think I shoulda gone to get her?"

Steve shifted so he could kiss James' cheek. "Nope." His breath was soft on James' neck, and the sensation sent shivers down James' spine. "Wanting some time away from the kids is normal. And they need time away from us too. Think of all the stories they'll have to tell us tomorrow."

"Yeah." James breathed out as Steve's hand reached his hip. "You wanna stop talking about the kids now?"

In response, Steve moved lower to kiss James' neck. James reached over to pull on Steve's arm, hauling the man up with some idea of shifting around on the couch, but then Steve straddled James' lap and James lost the plot of what he'd been doing.

"Hey," Steve whispered, his eyes bright and happy. "What do you want to do now?"

James had to take a moment, partly to deal with the fact that Steve was _sitting on his lap_ , but also trying to find an answer to Steve's question.

What _did_ he want?

"Bucky?"

Steve's weight was suddenly too much. James tried to sit up, pushing at Steve until the man took the hint and moved back. Once the weight was gone, James' head cleared and he was able to think more clearly.

"Bucky?" Steve said again, moving off the couch to sit on the coffee table. "What's wrong?"

James rubbed his hand over his face. What was _wrong_ was that he was a giant mess; Steve should have got that figured out by now.

"Just give me a minute, 'kay?" James said, not looking at Steve. A mix of humiliation and apprehension crawled thought his veins. He had the hottest bachelor in all of Brooklyn in his house, wanting to put his hands all over James, and all James could do was freak out.

"Do you want me to go make coffee or something?"

James took a deep breath and sat back. "Nah," he muttered, pushing his hair back. "Unless you want coffee."

"I'm good." Steve was eyeing James with what might have been concern. "Bucky, I don't have to stay over, if you don't want me to, I can head home—"

"No," James interrupted. He reached out to Steve. Steve's hand was warm and his grasp strong and somehow it helped James pull himself back. "I want you to stay."

"Then I'll stay." Steve slipped off the coffee table to kneel down by James' feet, and James had no idea what he was supposed to do. "Like I said before, all I want to do is whatever you want."

James reached out for Steve's hand, pressing it against his knee. "Then we got a problem," he said with an attempt at levity. " 'Cause I don't know shit."

Steve kissed the back of James' hand. "Then we figure it out together." He wrapped his other hand around James' ankle, a grounding touch.

James squeezed Steve's wrist. "You sure about this?"

"I'm sure about us," Steve replied. His eyes were wide and clear, and his expression so earnest that James could hardly look at him.

"Come on," James said, pulling at Steve's hand until they were both standing. "I need a drink."

Steve followed James into the dim kitchen. James didn't bother with the lights, just went to pull a bottle of water from the fridge. "You got any of that iced tea left?" Steve asked.

"Knock yourself out." James sat at the table. "Can you grab the grocery list while you're up there?"

Steve snagged the paper off the fridge on his way to the table. "What do you need?" he asked, sitting down beside James.

"Everything," James said with a shrug. "I've got chicken for dinner tomorrow, but I need vegetables and eggs and stuff. You and Clint want to stay for dinner tomorrow?"

"You bet," Steve said, the shadows on his face making him seem younger in the quiet room. "How about corn on the cob?"

"Okay." James took a few swallows of water, then scribbled for a while on his grocery list. The refrigerator was humming quietly in the background, off-set by the far-below _ping_ as the hot water heater kicked in; all the normal late-night sounds of the house settling in.

Steve set his glass on the table with a faint clink. "I hope Clint's doing okay," he said.

"It's what, nearly midnight?" James glanced at the clock on the microwave. "He's probably asleep. And since I didn't get another 'come get your kid' call, Nat's probably sleeping too."

Steve yawned. "Then why are we still up?"

"I'm making a list," James said, picking up the paper and giving it a shake. "Not sure what your excuse is." He crossed the room to put the grocery list back under its magnet. "But yeah, you're right. It's probably bed time."

Steve got up and carried his glass to the sink. "So, about that."

James turned around from where he was checking the back door alarm panel. He knew that tone of Steve's. "What?"

"Would, um…" Steve cleared his throat. "Do you want me to sleep in the guest room?"

James let out a slow breath. He may not have been sure what he did want, but he knew for certain that he didn't want to spend this night apart from Steve, and maybe that was his answer.

He walked the few steps from the back door to the sink, to put his arm around Steve. Steve returned the embrace immediately, his cheek pressed against James' hair.

"I want you to come to bed with me," James said after a few moments. Steve's breath caught in his throat. "I don't know what I'll be up to, but if you're okay with that, I want to spend the night with you."

Steve exhaled, his arms tightening around James. "I'm more than okay with that, Bucky," he said in a soft voice. He pulled back to look at James. "I want that too."

And with that, it was only natural for James to lean in, to kiss Steve in the soft quiet dark of the house. It was late, and James could feel the pull of sleep on his limbs, but even so, even with the promise of going up to bed with Steve, he couldn't quit just yet.

With a sigh, James disentangled himself from the kiss. "I gotta lock up," he said quietly. "Meet you upstairs?"

"Okay." With another kiss, Steve left the room, glancing back at James twice before he rounded the corner. James could hear his steps light on the stairs, then overhead in the hall.

Now, without Steve around to watch him, James could set to work. Locking up the house wasn't as simple as turning the deadbolts and calling it a night; James had to check every window and outside door in the basement and first floor, then he triple-checked the alarm before turning off the lights and heading upstairs.

He had already done a check of the upstairs windows that afternoon after dropping Natasha off, so now he just hauled himself up to the third story to make sure the door to the roof was triple-bolted, before going back down to the second floor.

The light was on in his bedroom. James made a quick pit-stop in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and other nightly rituals, before turning off the light and heading down the hall. He took a moment outside his bedroom to take a deep breath, to steady himself. This was what he wanted, James reminded himself. Him and Steve, together, and that was all it had to be.

Straightening his shoulders, James went inside.

Steve was sitting up in bed, still wearing his t-shirt and underwear as he read something on his phone. He looked up when James entered, and the smile that came over his face was like sunshine. "Everything locked up?" he asked.

"Yeah." James pulled his own phone from his jeans to place on the bedside table, for ease of access in case a call came in about Natasha. "I can't sleep unless I check, you know?"

"Makes sense," Steve said. He slipped his phone onto the table, then slid down a little. "Do you think Natasha got to sleep okay?"

"Probably, it's been half an hour." James unbuckled his belt. "She's usually in bed by ten at the latest, so hopefully she went to sleep when she gave it a try."

Now that he thought about it, James realized that he was exhausted. He'd been up early to get in a workout before Natasha awoke, and now it was past midnight. Hopefully his tiredness wouldn't turn the night into a disaster, with nightmares or screaming or anything like that.

"Hey," Steve said. "What's up?"

James started to unbutton his shirt. "I'm thinking too much."

"About good stuff or bad stuff?" Steve asked, watching James closely.

"Dunno." James pulled his shirt off and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper. "How about I get back to you on that?"

"If you want to," Steve said. He was still watching as James started to unbuckle the straps that held on his prosthetic arm. "You don't have to, but I'm always around to listen."

There was something so appealing in those blue eyes that James could only shake his head. "Yeah, well, you can do all the listening you want tomorrow morning," he said as he put the arm on the charging station. " 'Cause I am an old man who needs his sleep."

Steve's smile returned slowly. "Old man," he scoffed as James turned off the overhead light, leaving the room cast in shadows from the bedside lamp. "You're four months older than I am."

"Raising a daughter on my own in New York has _aged_ me, man." James kicked free of his jeans, then pushed the sheets aside so he could get into bed. The night was too warm for pajama bottoms, and he'd put on clean underwear before going out for dinner; this would have to do just fine. And Steve was still wearing his boxers. "You gonna sleep on top of the sheets or what?"

"Nope," Steve said, shimmying his way under the top sheet with alacrity. "You mind if I take my shirt off?"

"It is a nice shirt, but I'll try to deal with the disappointment," James said dryly. He lay down in his usual spot, closest to the door, in reaching distance of the lamp and his phone. That was the only familiar thing, though; Steve was big and distracting (especially without his shirt) and whenever he moved, the mattress shifted.

"Lucky me," Steve said, with some more shimmying until he was laying down, his face only a few inches away from James'. Under the sheet, Steve's knee touched James' thigh.

Because they were going to _sleep_ together, James thought, his pulse quickening. He was going to sleep in the same bed as Steve Rogers, and there might be touching, and when he woke up Steve would still be there.

Scratch that, James decided, as he lifted his head. There was definitely going to be touching. "So if I kiss you," he said, entranced by the way the shadows played over Steve's face, "Can that be just a thing?"

"Yes," Steve whispered, running his tongue over his lower lip. "Anything you want."

James lowered his head so his lips were almost brushing against Steve's cheek. "Only if you want it too," he murmured, then oh-so-gently kissed the corner of Steve's mouth.

"Oh, _yes_ ," Steve breathed, and then they were kissing. Steve's mouth was warm and soft as James shifted up so he was half-lying on Steve's chest. Everything about this moment was perfect; a quiet house, a dim room, and Steve solid and warm, and his hands were gentle on James' back.

After a wonderful eternity, James slowly pulled back. It took Steve a few moments to open his eyes. "Hey," James whispered, bringing his hand up to touch Steve's cheek. "I could get used to this."

"You better," Steve replied, turning his head to kiss James' palm. "You want to sleep or do more of this?"

James ran his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. "Could we try to get some sleep?" he asked, watching Steve closely. Steve had said he was okay with going at James' pace, but if he had just been saying that… if he wanted to do something more…

But Steve just smiled up at James. "Sleep sounds pretty good."

James' whole body sagged with relief. He rolled over to turn off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. Somehow, being unable to see Steve made snuggling down for the night a little easier. Maybe it was because Steve wouldn't be able to see James' scars. Or maybe because James really was fucking tired and now he could just close his eyes and sleep.

"Thanks for a great night, Bucky."

James yawned. "Yeah, it was okay." He shifted onto his left side, shoving his left arm stump under the pillow, then reached out for Steve. The man moved over so James could lean against his side, resting his head on Steve's shoulder. "D'you think it's always going to be like this?"

Steve gave a wiggle. "How do you mean?"

James closed his eyes. "You and me. It feels like it makes sense, you know?"

Steve sighed. "It makes sense to me too." He turned his head to kiss James' forehead. "It makes the most sense of anything I've ever done."

James curled in around Steve's body. It had been so long since he had been this close to someone that it should have felt alien; but all James could feel was safe. He was at home, behind locked doors, and Steve was there.

And he was _so tired_.

* * *

His dreams were full of disquiet. At one point in the night, James came near to waking, vaguely aware of another body shifting near his. With the dark and warmth and the sound of wind outside, James was back in Iraq in the sleeping tent, on a mission, and someone was on watch so he could sleep. He mumbled, "Dum Dum, go the fuck to sleep," and the motion subsided. James was quickly sucked back into sleep.

James woke properly to the early-morning sun glowing through the curtains, the distant smell of coffee, and an empty bed.

Rubbing his eyes, James sat up. The bedsheets were rumpled but Steve wasn't in evidence. His clothes were still lying on the floor, however. It took James' tired brain a few moments to put all the pieces together, that someone would have to have made the coffee, so that must be where Steve was.

He picked up his phone to look for any messages about Natasha, but there were no texts or missed calls. Natasha must be okay.

For a minute, James contemplated putting his head under a pillow and going back to sleep, but he made himself stand up. He had to pee. And figure things out about Steve, but peeing was the priority.

The house was silent as he walked down the hall, but it didn't feel empty. Steve was still around, which was good. Only, James didn't know why he wasn't in bed.

James paused by Natasha's doorway. His daughter's room was bright, as he hadn't pulled the curtains the night before. Natasha's stuffed animals lay in a heap on the bed, and they looked almost as dejected as James felt. As great as everything had been with Steve, James missed his little girl so much. He could hardly wait to go pick her up, and hear about how much fun she'd had at the sleepover. Ten o'clock couldn't come nearly soon enough.

With a sigh, James moved on.

Shuffling over the bathroom's tiled floor, James took care of the immediate business. He contemplated having a shower, but then shook his head. First he wanted a cup of coffee, and to know where Steve was, and not necessarily in that order. Then he wanted to figure out what he was going to do in the four hours until he could pick up Natasha from her sleepover.

James looked at his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hand. His same dumb face, with the faintest hint of scruff. He needed to shave. And his hair was getting to the awkward length where nothing he did with it looked right. Maybe he should it cut again. Or maybe he could grow it out long.

Or maybe he was procrastinating.

James slicked his hair back with a wet hand, grimaced at his reflection, then headed out into the hall and down the stairs.

The early morning sunlight poked through the living room curtains, giving James enough light to see that Steve wasn't in the room. But there was a hint of movement in the kitchen, so James just squared his shoulders and kept going.

Steve was standing by the kitchen window, clad only in his boxers, looking out onto the backyard. The smell of coffee was thick and rich in the room.

"Hey," James said, going up behind Steve to put his arm around Steve's waist. Steve turned his head to grin at James as James pressed a kiss against Steve's shoulder. "You're up early."

"You were still sleeping," Steve said, holding James' arm across his stomach. "I fidget a lot when I'm in bed in the morning. I didn't want to wake you up."

"I'd have survived." Reassured that Steve wasn't having some sort of morning-after existential freak-out, James kissed the back of Steve's neck. "But please tell me there's enough coffee for me."

"Of course." Steve squeezed James' wrist. "I'll get you a cup."

James leaned against the counter to watch Steve walk over to the coffee pot, admiring the man's long legs, his slim waist, his broad shoulders. He'd changed so much since they were kids, but then so had James.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Steve asked, pouring coffee into a mug and bringing it over to set down on the counter.

"Just remembering what a skinny little toothpick you were when we first met," James said. He picked up the mug, breathing deep. "Damn, that smells good."

"I was a toothpick until I was fourteen," Steve said as he picked up his own mug.

"Then what happened?" James took a sip of coffee. Delicious.

"Puberty. I got real tall and so awkward that Abraham suggested I start lifting weights at the community center gym." He smiled. "He put me on this whole health regimen, sorta like he used to do in East Germany for the athletes. Made me learn to cook so I wouldn't starve to death after school."

"What was your favorite thing to cook?" James asked. As much has he would always feel that hurt of losing Steve when they were children, he wanted to hear about Steve's life in New Jersey, wanted to know what Steve had been doing in the years they were apart.

"I make a mean grilled cheese," Steve said, finishing off his coffee. "I know eight ways to cook chicken breast. And there's this green smoothie recipe that tastes disgusting but man, can it keep you going for hours."

"Anything would be better than what I could cook when I was a kid." James made a face. "Honestly, going into the Army was probably the only thing that kept me from dying of starvation after high school."

"You're good in the kitchen now," Steve said.

"That was mostly therapy after this." James waggled his arm stump. "Lucky that Nat was still on the bottle when we got her home, otherwise we'd'a had a problem."

"Did you take a class or something?" Steve asked, going to put his mug in the sink.

"Nah." James sipped at his coffee, wondering if he could get away with another cup. "I'd put Natasha in her playpen and try to follow the instructions in this cookbook I picked up at the bookstore. Chopping was usually a disaster, but I did figure out how to crack an egg one-handed."

"You cook so well now," Steve said, returning to lean against the counter at James' side. "Clint loves everything you make. Especially your vegetables."

"Hey, you too can buy a four-hundred-dollar food processor and chop shit like a pro," James pointed out. He moved an inch to the left, which put him pressed against the side of Steve's body. Steve's reaction was immediate; he curled his arm around James' back and let out a sigh that might have been happiness. "Now unless all this talk of food is going to get me some breakfast, I need a shower."

"A shower sounds good," Steve whispered. He was soft and tousled so early in the morning, hair sticking in all directions, face prickly with a half-day's beard growth. It was all James had never known he wanted.

James leaned in to kiss Steve. God, he could get used to this; holding Steve, Steve holding him, just kissing and closeness and quiet. Steve was a huge man but he wasn't overwhelming, didn't push, didn't try to muscle James into doing anything James didn't want to do. He made James feel safe like this.

After a minute, James broke the kiss with a sigh. "You know, Steve, you're all right," he said.

Steve smiled. "You're pretty okay yourself, Bucky."

"I'm not half-bad." James stepped back, pulling on Steve's hand. "Come on, we can share a shower. Wouldn't want to waste water, would we?"

"We do need to set a good example," Steve agreed, letting himself be guided. "That's one thing I always liked about you, your environmentalism."

James rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

Upstairs in the bathroom, the showering process was delayed by kissing, some hugging, then more kissing. Steve was handsy in the morning, touching James all over. Not that James was complaining; the feel of Steve's hands on his body was making his knees weak and his stomach light and, of course, generating another obvious physical reaction.

"Want me to get you out of those boxers before the fabric rips?" Steve whispered, nipping at James' earlobe with his lips. His hands were resting on James' hips, fingers playing gently along the elastic of James' underwear.

"Only if you're going to let me get in the shower." James let out a gasp as Steve's hands slid this way and that, one hand grasping James' dick while the other pushed the fabric of the boxers down. " _Fuck_ , Steve."

"I'd be up for that," Steve said against James' shoulder. "If you want."

It took a few moments for Steve's meaning to percolate through James' distraction. When it did, James dug his fingers into Steve's back, making the man pull back to look at him. "Do you mean that?" he asked, in almost a gasp. Months of fantasizing about Steve, and James hadn't really considered that Steve would want to do _that_.

"Yeah." Steve crowded in close to James, pressing against him so the hardness of his arousal was hot against James' belly. He stared into James' eyes. "I do."

A whole new horizon of options opened up in James' mind. "I thought you'd be more, you know," he blurted out.

"What, restricted?" Steve smiled, a slow smile that sent a shiver down James' spine. "Nope, Bucky, I'm up for pretty much anything."

James was still trying to wrap his brain around the revelation. "So do you mean you'll do stuff, or you _like_ to do stuff?"

The smile faded from Steve's face. "I mean that I want to do everything with you." He slid his hands around the back of James' neck, holding him close as James processed this. "I like fucking, and I like to be fucked, and a lot of other stuff too."

James dropped his gaze to Steve's chest. He didn't know why he'd assumed that Steve would only be interested in one thing in bed.

"Bucky?"

James kissed Steve's collarbone. "Give me some time to think about that, okay?" he mumbled against Steve's skin. "It's been a while."

"Okay." Steve pressed gentle kisses against James' hair while James tried to breathe his way back to normal. "Do you want me to leave you to take a shower on your own?"

James took in a big gulp of air, trying to get his head back in the game. "Nope," he said, stepping back. "Come on, I'm hungry."

"I could make you breakfast first," Steve said, but he started to shimmy out of his underwear. "Wouldn't want you passing out from hunger."

"Pfft." James stepped into the tub. "We got three hours until I gotta pick Natasha up, you want to waste any more of that time?"

"Nope."

It took a few adjustments to get the water just the right temperature for the both of them. James ducked his head under the spray, then switched places with Steve to grab a pump of shampoo.

"Wow, you really meant it."

"What?" James asked, lathering the shampoo in his hair.

"You really wanted to shower."

"What the hell else would I mean?" James nudged at Steve, who obligingly moved so James could rinse his hair.

Steve shrugged, reaching for the soap. "Wet blowjobs."

James raised his eyebrows at Steve. "You can give blowjobs in the shower?" he asked. Well, logically he assumed that it was possible; from what he'd heard from the guys in the Army, there was no place on earth that a guy wouldn't want to get his dick sucked. But the logistics behind a blowjob in the shower seemed tricky.

"I sure can," Steve said, taking James' query as a challenge. "Get all that soap out of your hair and I'll show you."

James scrubbed at his head with renewed vigor. Once all the shampoo was washed out, he looked at Steve. "So what do I do?"

The warm, humid confines of the shower felt more intimate than anything James could remember, even being with Steve in bed, and it almost scared him how much he wanted this.

Steve, putting down the soap, nudged James so the shower spray was hitting him right between the shoulder blades. "Stay there," Steve said, then dropped to his knees.

The sight of Steve on his knees in front of James, those beautiful lips mere inches from James' dick, made James hope he wasn't going to pass out.

"Now," Steve said, running one hand up the inside of James' thigh all the way to his groin, "Buckle up."

He took James' dick between his lips, his tongue slick over the head. James let out a moan as Steve moved his hands to grip the back of James' thighs. The moan sharped to a gasp as Steve took James' dick into his mouth, and James had to work to keep his hips from bucking.

Steve drew back all the way, until his lips were on the tip of James' dick, then he started up that thing with his tongue again. James' eyes rolled shut as Steve licked down, down to his balls, then back up again.

" _Fuck_ ," James breathed as Steve's lips closed over his dick again, this time sucking James back into his mouth. "Fuck, Steve."

Steve took him in deep, then again, and again, and with the pressure of Steve's hands on the back of his legs and the warmth of Steve's mouth, James could feel his orgasm building. He made himself open his eyes, looked down at Steve, who was staring up at him with wide, dark eyes as he pulled back. They were both breathing hard.

"I'm going to come pretty soon," James warned, reaching down to cup Steve's cheek. Steve turned his head to suck James' thumb into his mouth, biting down every-so-slightly. James' knees threatened to buckle.

"Do you want to come in my mouth?" Steve asked, pressing a kiss against James' stomach. "Do you want to fuck my mouth until you come?"

James' breath caught in his throat, and all he could do was nod, his hand moving to tangle in Steve's hair as Steve took James' dick back in his mouth. This time it was different, with Steve pulling on James' legs, making him move, making him push into Steve's mouth. He wasn't sure who was doing what and he wasn't sure he cared, as he tried to from going too deep, from pushing Steve beyond where he wanted to go, but Steve kept going, one hand slipping around to cup James' balls, and that tipped James over the edge. He came with a cry, grabbing at the wall to keep on his feet as the orgasm washed over him.

Steve held James up, panting for breath, his face pressed to James' stomach as James tried to stay conscious. Holy shit.

"That was awesome," Steve murmured. He kissed James' skin, then slowly got to his feet. "Damn, Bucky, that was perfect."

"You did all the work," James said, pulling Steve to him. The kiss was sloppy and open-mouthed, and in that moment James would have done absolutely anything Steve asked. "That was amazing."

"You're amazing." Steve ran his hands down James' back, cupping James' ass as he lowered his head for another kiss. Steve's dick was hard against James' stomach, and as they kissed, Steve's hips moved, thrusting gently.

Well, there was one thing James could do for Steve, and it might not have been as amazing as that blowjob, but it might help. "Turn around," James whispered, moving so Steve was under the shower's spray. Steve obediently turned so his back was against James' front. "Now, how about I help you with this?"

He wrapped his hand around Steve's dick, squeezing until Steve let out a moan. "Oh, that's good," Steve said, his hips starting to move. James got a pretty good rhythm going, keeping Steve against him as his hand moved on Steve's dick. Steve was as vocal as he had been the previous evening, moaning and panting as he got closer. James knew Steve was almost there when he put his hand over James'.

"Come on, Steve," James whispered in Steve's ear. "You're so fucking perfect."

"Bucky," Steve groaned, and came in James' hand.

They stood there for a few minutes, breathing hard. James kissed the back of Steve's neck while the man recovered, his hand on Steve's stomach to keep him upright.

"Wow," Steve said after a while. "Fuck."

"Not bad for a first date," James said. "You know what I mean."

"I do." Steve turned around. "That was great."

"Yeah." James ran his hand over Steve's chest. They'd been in the shower for so long that the water was beginning to lose its heat. "Steve, I have something I need to tell you."

Steve put his hand over James'. "What is it?" he asked solemnly.

James took a breath. "I am so fucking hungry right now."

Steve burst out laughing. "Me too." He turned to duck his head under the shower spray. "You want me to cook?"

"Nah, there's a diner a few blocks away that shouldn't be too busy this time of morning." James grabbed the soap for a quick scrub. "They got great hash-browns."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Steve asked, grinning.

James grinned back, a bubble of happiness in his chest nearly lifting him off his feet. He and Steve, they were together, and that was the best thing ever. "I'm waiting for you to move your ass so I can rinse off," James said. "Move it."

"As you wish," Steve said.

James rolled his eyes. "I love you too, ass," he said, then yelped as the water suddenly ran cool.

It took them another half hour to get out of the house, what with shaving and dressing and James ducking back inside to turn on the dishwasher. Brooklyn was quiet for eight o'clock on a Saturday morning, and James was almost floating as he and Steve walked down the street. He was so happy that he could barely stand it.

And the best part was that he knew Steve was happy too.


	25. Smooth Sailing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Smooth Sailing by Ella Fitzgerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hkcd-CdvpqQ)
> 
> Note: parts of this chapter hearken back to [HoC Outtake Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2585939/chapters/8423977), if you care to refresh your memory.

* * *

Breakfast with Steve was quite possibly the best meal of James' life. The diner wasn't too busy for a Saturday morning, which helped. The coffee was hot and the hash-browns crispy, just the way James liked them. And best of all, he got to sit across the table from Steve, who was smiling at James with his megawatt smile.

Even though they lingered over coffee, it was only nine o'clock when they headed back out onto the street. The day was slightly overcast, but nothing could dampen James' mood. He was with Steve, and soon he was going to pick up his daughter, and then Sharon would drop Clint off, and everything would be perfect.

"Do you want to go back and get the car?" Steve asked as they waited at a light.

"Nah, it's only a couple of miles," James said. "I walked there with Nat last night."

"Do you think she's having fun?" Steve asked.

"I hope so," James said, stepping out into the intersection. "It's good that she spends time with other kids her own age."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I really hope school is good for Clint this year."

"He makes friends pretty easy, doesn't he?" James asked. "He was okay in soccer and in school last year, right?"

"I guess." Steve stuck his hands in his pockets. "We got that meeting with the teacher on Wednesday, we'll see how that goes."

"At one o'clock," James said. "You okay to take the time off work?"

"I booked it off when we got back from the beach," Steve confirmed. "I may have to work late that night, though."

"That's fine."

James turned left at the next corner, Steve matching his stride. The wind was picking up, uncharacteristically chilly for a Brooklyn morning in August. James shivered, wondering if Natasha would be warm enough on the walk home.

"Do you want to tell them?" Steve asked, interrupting James' thoughts.

"Tell who what?"

"The kids. About us."

James shrugged. "It's only been a week," he said, slowing so he could keep an eye on Steve's face. He had no idea what the man might be thinking. "Could we give it a little time?"

"Of course," Steve said. "Whatever you want."

James rubbed at the back of his head. "Thanks," he mumbled, feeling a little defensive. "All this shit's new for me."

"Yeah." Steve knocked his elbow against James' side. "Hey, you want to go grab a coffee or something?"

James checked his phone. Forty-five minutes until he could pick up Natasha. "Sure, I could stand another cup."

They went into a coffee shop; James making a beeline for a table while Steve went to order. The place was crowded and loud and James could feel the anxiety starting to build in his stomach. He tried to shake it off. He wasn't in any danger and Natasha wasn't with him – he didn't need to worry about keeping his little girl safe.

Still, he sat with his back to the wall and positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the door and on the cash registers at the same time, in case anything happened.

This also gave him an opportunity to watch Steve without distraction. The man was conversing with the cashier, his blond hair glowing gold in the café's soft lighting. His body moved easily under the tight-fitting clothes, and James had to supress a shiver at the memory of what Steve looked like out of those clothes; at the memory of them, together, in the quiet of James' bedroom.

Then Steve was making his way over to the table, and James made himself sit up straight and act casual. "What did you get?" James asked as Steve plopped into the seat.

"Couple 'a lattes," Steve said with a grin. "Check this out, Sharon texted me a picture of Clint at the hotel pool."

James took the offered phone. On the screen was a picture of Clint in his swim trunks, hair plastered flat on his head and grinning like a maniac. "Looks like things are going okay with his mom, then," James said, handing the phone back.

  
"Yup." Steve looked at the picture for a long moment. "I'm glad."

"So you're really okay with Sharon being back in your life?" James asked. He wished he had a coffee cup to fiddle with, something to let him fidget instead of just having to look at Steve.

"Back in Clint's life," Steve corrected as he set his phone down. "Not mine."

"Don't think it works quite like that," James said quietly.

Steve looked at him, eyes steady. "I've got my priorities straight," he said. "Clint, you, Natasha, and work. That's all."

James let out a breath. Part of him wanted to argue with Steve, to tell him that even if Sharon wasn't on Steve's check-list, she'd always be a factor in Clint's life. But the other voice in James' head was telling him to shut up, to _stop talking_ about Steve's ex on the morning after their very first date.

"That's good, then," James said, and Steve visibly relaxed.

Their drinks arrived, two milky beverages in small porcelain cups. Steve sipped at his cup. "I was thinking," he said after a moment.

James paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. "About what?" he demanded.

"This afternoon."

James rolled his eyes, and carried on lifting his cup to his mouth.

"After Sharon drops Clint off. What should we do with the kids?"

James took another sip of latte. "Well, I gotta go grocery shopping before dinner. You want to team up, or divide and conquer?"

"Why don't we see how nuts the kids are when they get home?" Steve suggested. "It's going to have been a long night for both of them. They might need some quiet time."

"Hell, I might need some quiet time." James winced at the sound of crashing porcelain across the café. "Maybe soon."

"You want to get out of here?" Steve asked.

The walls of the café seemed to be closing in on James. "Yeah," he said shortly, moving to stand. Steve took a moment to knock back the rest of his latte, and was on James' heels out of the building.

James started walking east, the anxiety mixed with shame in his throat keeping him from speaking. Steve was at his side, matching James' pace. He didn't say anything.

It took two blocks for James to get anything out of his mouth. "It was the noise," he said, then coughed.

"It's okay," Steve said.

"No, it ain't," James snapped. "It's fucked up, that's what it is."

"Hey," Steve said, putting his hand on James' wrist, and James let himself be pulled to a stop. "Bucky, it's okay," Steve said again, still holding James' wrist.

James took a deep breath, then another one. He didn't feel better, not by a long shot, but the noise echoing in his head was starting to fade. "Let's go get Natasha," he said, pulling away from Steve. "It's early, but we're almost there."

"Sounds good."

It was only another few blocks to the McCarthy house. With some trepidation, James rang the bell and was duly buzzed into the building. Once inside the elevator, James took hold of Steve's hand.  "If anyone asks, tell them you're my friend," James said, watching the elevator panel.

Steve squeezed James' hand. "I _am_ your friend," he said quietly. "You think there'll be a problem with the parents?"

"Nah." James straightened up as the elevator doors opened. "We're all adults here, right?"

"Sure," said Steve, but James wasn't really listening. His daughter was on the other side of the door at the end of the hall, and he could hardly wait to see her.

He hurried down the hall, Steve on his heels, and rapped on the McCarthys' door.

It was opened after a minute by an exhausted-looking Sarah McCarthy. "Hi," she said, pulling the door open wide. "They're coloring."

James slipped into the apartment, which was in a state of disarray. A gaggle of girls lay sprawled on the floor and couch, drawing and talking in high voices. James could see the top of Natasha's head, bent over her paper, and relief coursed through his veins. Natasha was okay. His daughter was safe.

Behind him, he could hear Steve introducing himself to Sarah as he made his way over to the couch to kneel down beside Natasha. "Hey there, sweet pea."

Natasha looked up, and grinned the most wonderful smile in the world. "Hi Daddy!" she exclaimed, scrambling up for a hug. James wrapped his arm around Natasha's back and gave her a squeeze. "You came early. It's not ten o'clock yet."

"I know." James kissed Natasha's cheek. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd come see if Mrs. McCarthy needed any help cleaning up."

"Hey!" Natasha said, pointing at Steve. "Where's Clint?"

James pushed a stray lock of hair back from Natasha's face. "Clint's having a sleepover with his mommy," he said quietly, so as not to distract the other girls, who had all gone back to their drawing. "She's going to bring him over to our house at noon, but until then it's just me and Steve and you."

Natasha stared at her father. "Clint didn't tell me that," she said finally.

"He didn't know himself," James said, putting his hand on Natasha's back. "It was a surprise."

Natasha rubbed her nose. "Is she going to make Clint cry again?"

"No," James said, firm. A couple of the other girls were looking up now, listening to the conversation. "Clint is having a nice time with his mom, and then he's going to come home and have fun with us."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Okay," she said after a moment. "Daddy, go away until it's ten o'clock, I'm _drawing_."

"If you want." James bent over to kiss the top of Natasha's head. "I'll be over there."

"Yes," Natasha said, sitting back down. "But Steve can come help me draw."

"Who's Steve?" asked one girl.

"Is that Steve?" asked another, pointing at Steve where the man was chatting with Sarah.

"Yeah, he draws real good," Natasha said. "Once he drew me a bear and then I got to color it."

Hauling himself to his feet, James stepped his way across the cluttered floor to Steve's side. "You're up," he said, touching Steve's elbow. The man raised his eyebrows. "Your art skills have been requested. I, on the other hand, have been banished until ten."

Sarah smiled at James. "If you want some coffee, my husband's in the kitchen with Bryant."

"I'll go see what I can do," Steve said, heading over to the gaggle of children with Sarah. James took a moment to watch them settle in, hearing Natasha's shrieked introduction of "This is Steve!" and the responding "Hi Steve!" from the girls, before he shuffled into the kitchen.

At James' entrance, the man in the kitchen looked up from where he was trying to prevent the baby from tipping over a sippy cup. "Hey," he said, then winced as the baby succeeded in pushing the cup off the high chair. "How you doing?"

The accent was pure Bronx, and James had to catch himself from letting his own voice slide back to the slang of his youth. "Good, and you?"

"Ain't slept in over a day, which is no surprise." The man held out his hand. "Christopher."

"James." They shook, a manly bone-crushing handshake that James had learned from his years on construction sites. There were some impressive calluses on the man's hand, which tracked with being a firefighter, James supposed. "I'm Natasha's dad."

"Oh yeah, the one that couldn't sleep," Christopher said. "Getcha some coffee?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." While Christopher went to counter, James bent down to pick up the baby's cup, the lid miraculously in place. "Was it complete chaos last night?" he asked, putting the cup on the table.

"Nah, they were pretty good," Christopher said. "I got home while they were eating, then Sarah put them in front of a movie. Take a chair if you want."

"Thanks," James said, settling down at the table beside the high chair. "Natasha tells me you're a firefighter?"

"Yeah." Christopher sat down with two mugs, pushing one over to James. "Over in Crown Heights."

"Huh, not a bad commute." James lifted the mug in thanks, then took a sip. The brew was strong and tarry and reminded James strongly of the outpost coffee that Dernier used to make in Iraq. He took another sip. " 'S good stuff."

"Strong enough to get you through a twelve-hour shift." Christopher handed the baby the sippy-cup, then sat down. "So, uh." He gestured vaguely in James' direction. "Your kid said you were in the Army?"

"I was." James lifted his metal hand enough to wave the fingers. "Been out for about five years now."

"Yeah." Christopher caught the sippy cup before the baby could launch it onto the floor. "Did you join up before, or after?"

James could practically hear the capital letters on the man's question. He wasn't sure why he was surprised – he'd been getting that question for years. Nearly ever New Yorker had a story about where they were on 9/11.

"After," James said, consciously leaning back in his chair. This wasn't a new thing; being grilled by other parents about his background. Only normally, it was the moms at dance class and school. Being questioned by this firefighter dad was raising James' hackles. "I was just outta high school, been working in my dad's construction company."

"Here in town?" The man's attention was distracted.

"Yeah."

"Which high school 'd you go to?"

The conversation quickly turned to high school recollections, and James slipped easily back into the cadence of his youth, letting his vowels get away from him. The baby jabbered in his high chair, and in the living room continued the shrieks and high-pitched voices of six excited little girls.

After a few minutes, James felt tiny fingers pinch at his earlobe. "Daddy."

"Hey sweet pea." James turned in his chair, catching Natasha as she launched herself onto his lap. "You still having fun?"

Natasha let out a huff against James' cheek. "Steve is drawing Lydia a picture," she said accusingly as she leaned back far enough to glare at him. "And he already drawed Kate a turtle and Annabelle a monkey."

"That's very nice of Steve," James said, wrapping his right arm around Natasha's waist so she wouldn't fall. "It's nice when our friends do nice things for other people. Isn't it?"

Natasha huffed again, her lower lip going out in a theatrical pout.

James hadn't seen Natasha's particular brand of jealousy rear its head in a while, and certainly never with Steve on the supporting end. Part of James was thrilled that Natasha was being so protective of Steve, that she liked having him around that much. But the other part, the part that had read numerous parenting blogs on this very subject, knew he had to cowboy up on parenting skills. Especially with an audience.

"Nat, it's very nice of Steve to draw pictures for the girls," he said, patting Natasha's side. "Because Steve likes to draw, and it makes people happy when he draws things. Right?"

Natasha wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I _guess_ so," she said slowly.

"And soon we'll be heading home, you, me and Steve, and Steve can draw you a very special picture all your own."

"Hey, yeah!" Natasha said, cheering up. "A picture that no one else will have, just me!"

James supposed that was as good as he was going to get. "Now, why don't you head back into the living room until the other girls' parents get here, then we'll leave, okay?"

"Okay!" Natasha slid off James' lap and ran out of the room without a backwards glance.

Across the table, Christopher was grinning as he wiped snot off the baby's nose. "Kids."

"Tell me about it." James slouched down a little. It was going to be a long day. "Hey, you've got two now. How was Annabelle when you brought the baby home?"

As diversions went, the question was highly successful. Christopher launched into a recounting of his daughter's jealously at no longer being an only child, and James nodded along in all the right places until the door buzzer rang, and suddenly the apartment was full of parents and children.

James put his cup into the sink, thanked Christopher for the coffee, then headed into the living room to help Natasha pack her gear. Steve was still in the middle of the floor, working on a drawing for one last little girl, Taylor if James recalled correctly. James had a peek at the paper on his way past – a cartoon princess sat on the back of a giant frog.

"Nice work," James said.

"That's me," Taylor said proudly as she pointed at the sketch. "Me as Tiana."

"I see." James wracked his brain to the last time he'd watched Princess and the Frog with Natasha; it had to have been over a year before. "And is that Naveen as a frog?"

"No!" said Taylor scornfully. "That's Fluffy the Giant Frog. He's my frog-horse!"

"Here you go." Steve handed over the paper with a flourish. "All for you, my lady."

Taylor took the paper and ran squealing over to her mother. Steve put down the pencil with a rueful smile. "I guess I got caught up," he said.

"The most popular kid at the party," James said. He held his hand out to Steve. "Come on, up and att'em."

Steve took James hand and hauled himself to his feet. "Does Nat need any help with her stuff?"

"I'm on it," James said. "You go schmooze the ballet moms."

He turned away on Steve's "Huh?" and stepped carefully over to where Natasha was attempting to roll up her bedding.

"Hey kiddo, what's up?"

Natasha sat back on her heels, pushing hair out of her face in frustration. "Daddy, it won't go!"

 "That's okay, we'll work it out." James lowered himself to the floor. "How about we do your hair first?"

Natasha wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "Yeah. I want barrettes," she said, letting herself be pulled onto James' knee. James dug the hairbrush out from Natasha's backpack, and carefully brushed the tangles out of her hair. Around the room, chaos reigned as five children and their parents tried to pack up the detritus of a sleepover, but there was a happy peace in James' head.

Luckily, the tangles slipped out of Natasha's hair easily. "What barrette do you want to wear?" James asked.

"The purple one," Natasha said, hauling her backpack over. "So Clint will see it and know that we are best friends."

"I like that idea." James took the purple barrette from the baggie of hair supplies. "And Clint will always know you're his best friend, no matter what you're wearing."

"I hope so." As they had so often practiced, Natasha held her hair up so James could pin it in place. "He was with his mommy all night. Maybe he forgot about me."

"Nope," James said immediately, pulling Natasha into a hug. She giggled. "Clint's going to come home and tell you all kinds of cool stories, and you can tell him all the cool stories about your night too."

"That's good," Natasha declared. She pushed herself out of James' embrace. "And then we can tell Skye on Monday."

Together, father and daughter rolled up Natasha's bedding. Natasha held the roll closed while James tied it. "Now let's check your backpack to make sure we've got everything," James said.

Steve came over as Natasha was pulling things out of her backpack. "Mrs. McCarthy gave me your craft, Natasha." He held out a collection of felt scraps. "The glue isn't quite dry yet."

"Yeah, that's mine!" Natasha jumped up. "Look, Daddy, I made this."

James dutifully admired the felt monster, then put it down on top of Natasha's sleeping roll for the journey home.

"Lydia's leaving!" came a screech from near the door, and Natasha tore off to bid her friend farewell.

"Got everything?" Steve asked as James stood.

"I hope so," James said. "Bedding, backpack, and Bear."

"Medication?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow, and James bit back a curse. "I'll go get it. Kitchen?"

James nodded, and Steve headed off. Letting out a sigh, James gathered up Natasha's backpack and her bedroll. Across the room, the children were saying their farewells, and all of a sudden James wanted to get out of there, take his daughter and Steve home and close the door on the noise.

As if summoned, Steve reappeared, Natasha's medication bag in hand, and he corralled Natasha into getting on her shoes and saying goodbye to Annabelle while James said goodbye to Sarah and Christopher and thanked them for having Natasha over.

Not nearly soon enough, they were in the hallway and riding down the elevator with Kate and her parents, then out the front door and walking west on the sidewalk, Natasha's hand held tight in James, with Steve on Natasha's other side.

For the first time in over seventeen hours, James could breathe properly.

"Daddy, do you have Bear?" Natasha demanded.

"Yup, Bear's in your backpack," James said, shaking the cobwebs out of his brain. "We can bring him out when we get home, okay?"

"Yeah." Natasha's fingernails dug into James' palm. "Where is the car?"

"We walked over to get you," James explained. "We can walk back."

"No." Natasha stopped suddenly. "I can't walk anymore."

"Is there something in your shoe?" James asked.

Natasha let out a huge harrumph, her mouth turned down in a pout. "No, I can't walk. I'm too tired."

"Do you want me to give you a piggy-back?" Steve offered.

Natasha stamped her foot on the ground. "No!"

James stared. He had seen Natasha's moods change like lightning before, but this was unexpected. "What do you want?" he asked.

Natasha stamped both feet in turn. "I don't know!" she nearly wailed.

"Tantrum incoming," Steve murmured as he took the sleeping roll from James' hand. "Give me the backpack too."

Thus unencumbered, James knelt down before his furious daughter. "If you won't walk and you don't want Steve to carry you, you need to tell me what you want, using your words."

Lower lip trembling, Natasha flung herself at her father, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing hard against his ear.

"Oh, that's a big hug," James said, holding Natasha tight. "That's the biggest hug I could ever get."

Natasha showed no signs of letting go any time soon, so James put his prosthetic hand on her back to steady her and scooped Natasha up with his right arm as he stood. It was slightly awkward, and Natasha was really getting too heavy for this sort of thing, but James would be damned if he'd let go.

"How about I carry you for a little bit, okay?" James felt Natasha nod. "I sure missed you last night, sweet pea."

A sniffle, then, "I didn't miss you! At all!"

James bit down on a smile. At his side, Steve grinned. "That's because you were having so much fun," James said as they walked. "With your friends, and the movie, and spaghetti."

"I love spaghetti," Natasha said.

"I know you do." James paused to heft Natasha higher on his arm. "I thought about you a lot last night, and I'm really glad you had fun."

"I thought about you sometimes, Daddy," Natasha confessed, twisting her head around so she could see where they were going. "Not a lot. Just two times."

"That's cool." James glanced over at Steve, who was trying not to laugh. "And I am sure glad to get this really nice hug."

Natasha squeezed his neck again. "Put me down, I can walk now," she ordered, and James complied. Natasha took hold of James' right hand, and off they went.

The walk through Brooklyn was nice. Natasha chattered about her evening, and all the fun she'd had, and how much she liked the movie _Lilo and Stitch_ and how she and Clint had to watch that movie together and why weren't there more Disney movies with boys in them, not that Natasha liked boys but Clint didn't count she liked him, and could they watch movies all afternoon and have ice cream and popcorn?

After a few blocks of this, when they were paused at a light, Natasha reached out for Steve's free hand, and they walked like that all the way home.

Once they were inside, Natasha kicked off her shoes and ran upstairs. James closed the door behind them with a groan. "Is it only ten-thirty?" he asked as he turned the deadbolt. "I need a nap."

Steve dropped Natasha's gear onto the couch. "Maybe I should apologize for keeping you up last night," he said with a smile.

From upstairs came the happy shout of "Polka dot sheets!"

Hoping they had a few minutes before Natasha reappeared, James walked over to Steve. "Nothing to apologize for," he said as he leaned in to kiss Steve.

Steve melted against James, his arms going around James' waist and his body pressing in along James' in a long line. His lips were soft and warm, his hands gentle, and part of James wanted this to go on forever.

Upstairs, the distant call of "Daddy!" sounded, and James reluctantly pulled back.

"I should probably…"

"Yeah." Steve dipped his head to kiss James on the nose. "Want me to make some coffee?"

"Hell yes." James stayed where he was, lifting his right hand to touch Steve's cheek.

"What is it?" Steve asked, smiling again.

"This is nice, that's all." James felt like an idiot, at the inadequacy of words. It wasn't nice, it was _amazing_ , it was _everything_ , and James was more than a little scared at how happy he was.

Steve turned his head to kiss James' palm. "It is."

" _Daddy_!"

James sighed as he stepped away from Steve. "What is it, Nat?" he called.

"Come here!"

"Come here, what?" James was half-distracted as he watched Steve walk into the kitchen – in those jeans, the man was a public menace.

"Come _please_!"

Picking up Natasha's backpack, James climbed the stairs.

His daughter was lying face-down on her bed, Dr. Snapples clutched in her left hand. "Daddy," Natasha said dramatically when James entered the room, "They missed me so much!"

"Then it's good that you're home." James sat on the bed. "Here, get Bear out."

Natasha crawled around to unzip her backpack. "Daddy, I like home the best," she said seriously. "There's not too many people here."

"It was pretty loud at Annabelle's, wasn't it?" James looked in the backpack once Natasha had yanked Bear free. "How about I put this stuff in the laundry?"

"Okay." Natasha flopped down again, hugging her teddy bear tight. "Bear helped me to go to sleep when I wasn't here. Clint is my boy best friend, but Bear is my bear best friend."

James smiled. The tension that had been sitting on his shoulders even since Sarah McCarthy first called about the sleepover was finally gone, now that Natasha was home safe and sound. "I know how important Bear is to you."

"When'd I meet Bear?" Natasha asked, sitting up to place Bear carefully at the head of the bed.

"When you came home for the very first time." James reached out his hand for Natasha to climb onto his lap. She looked up at him expectantly. "When I brought you home from the hospital, I gave you Bear so he could be your friend."

"Bear is as old as I am," Natasha said sagely. "And in bear-years, he is a hundred!"

"Is that how bear-years work?" James asked, tickling Natasha's side. She giggled and twisted away. "Then how old does that make me in Dad-years?"

"Too old!" Natasha wiggled off his lap. "You're so old, no one's ever been so old! Not even Director Fury!"

James sighed theatrically. "That is super-duper old," he agreed. "If I'm so old, how about you help me take your stuff down to the washing machine?"

"If I _have_ to," Natasha said. Together, they gathered up Natasha's clothes and took them to the hamper, then they both went down the stairs.

Steve was sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up at their approach. "Sharon just texted me to say she'll be here by noon with Clint," Steve said.

"That's not very long at the museum," James said.

Steve shrugged. "They were there at ten and Sharon drove, so it shouldn't be a problem."

James raised his eyebrows. "She parked at the museum? What, is she made of money?"

"Says the man who bought the kids ice cream every day on vacation," Steve said. He hoisted himself up off the couch. "Need a hand with anything?"

"Daddy needs to go do the laundry," Natasha said before James could speak. She pushed James toward Steve. "Daddy, make Steve do it, I'm busy."

"And what are you busy doing, exactly?" James asked.

"I gotta _pee_." And with that, Natasha scampered off towards the bathroom.

James rolled his eyes, while Steve sipped at his coffee. "She's all settled?" Steve asked.

"Of course she is, she's got me to do all the work." James hefted the laundry basket to his hip. "Can you keep an eye out while I'm downstairs?"

"Of course." With his free hand, Steve touched James' wrist, and even that brief brush of skin was enough to send shivers down James' spine. "We'll be up here when you're done all the hard work."

"You're hilarious," James said as he headed downstairs.

"I am!" Steve shouted after him.

After getting the laundry squared away, James puttered around in the basement for a while, tidying here and there. He knew that one day, he would have to tackle the mess in the jumble room, get rid of Natasha's old stroller and crib… but he kept putting that off, maybe to fool himself that his daughter wasn't growing up so fast.

Going back upstairs, James found Natasha ensconced at the kitchen table, colouring in her memory book. "Hey," James said, going over to pat Natasha on the back. "Where's Steve?"

"He went outside," Natasha said, never looking up from her notebook. "Can I have a snack?"

James checked the time. "Sure. Want to help me make lunch?"

"Okay." Natasha closed her notebook and followed James to the counter. "Will Clint be here for lunch?"

"Yup." James turned on the tap. "Wash your hands."

"If Clint is here for lunch, he will want a peanut butter sandwich," Natasha explained. "And I want a cheese sandwich. And an apple. But I want an apple now."

"That can be arranged."

When Steve came back inside a few minutes later, Natasha was sitting on the counter, gnawing on an apple, while James dug around in the cupboard for a new jar of peanut butter.

"Daddy's making lunch," Natasha informed Steve.

"Why's he making it on the floor?"

"Ha ha," James snarked, crawling out of the cupboard, peanut butter jar in hand. "You're just full of jokes today."

"I told you, I'm hilarious." Steve held out his hand to help James stand, but James put the jar into the open palm and stood unaided.

"Anything up with Clint's ETA?" James asked quietly.

"No, it was Tony." Steve put the jar on the counter beside Natasha. "Pepper's out of town and he's bored. He wanted to know if me and Clint wanted to hang out at his place today."

James clenched his jaw, surprised at the sudden flare of jealousy in his chest. "Do you want to?" he asked, working to keep his voice even. "Head off once Sharon brings Clint back?"

"Bucky." Steve put his hand on James' arm, just above the elbow, and James had to fight to stay still. "I told you, I'm here with you today."

"Maybe that was before you got a better offer."

 Steve's hand fell away from James' arm. "You got a problem with Tony?"

James didn't understand the expression on Steve's face, but to hell with it. "Maybe I do," he said, stepping away from Steve before he could think better of this disaster. But first, he had to get his kid out of the way. "Hey, Nat, do you want to go watch a movie?"

"You told me I had to help with lunch," Natasha said through a mouthful of apple.

"Yeah, well, Steve's here now, so he can help me." James lifted Natasha to the ground. "Go put on Mulan or something."

"Okay." Natasha tromped out of the kitchen, which took care of one of James' problems, but not the other.

Which was now glaring at him. Great.

James went back to the counter so he could continue making the sandwiches. Steve leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest. "So what beef you got with Tony?" he asked.

James carefully gripped the peanut butter jar in his prosthetic hand. "You wouldn't understand."

The resulting silence in the kitchen was so complete that the sounds of Natasha singing to herself in the living room came through loud and clear. It took Steve nearly a full minute to come out with, "Tony's one of my best friends on this planet, Bucky, so why don't you fucking help me understand it?"

With a grunt, James managed to get the top off the jar. His heart was racing in his chest as he wondered how the hell he always managed to fuck his life up. "It's the arm," he said, not able to look up from the peanut butter. "I always knew it was Stark tech, right, but I figured that it was like engineers or some shit that was looking after it and everything. Like, how the fuck could I know the big guy was in on the project?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, but the anger had softened out of his words.

"At the party." James willed his metal hand to release the peanut butter jar, holding the open palm up to the light. "I sees Tony Stark looking at this, and that's when I knew he seen everything, knows every goddamn thing about me and I just—" The words stuck in James' throat, and it was getting hard to breathe, and James knew Steve was staring at him and he wanted it all to just _stop_.

There was motion in the corner of James' eyes and he started back, but it was just Steve, large and looming only he wasn't coming in for a punch, his arms were going around James in a sideways hug and Jesus _Christ_ Steve was huge, especially when he was clinging to James like an overenthusiastic octopus.

"Tony's a good guy," Steve said in the general vicinity of James' ear. "He started the robotic prosthetics program because he wanted to help people, that's all of it."

"I don't need no one's charity," James muttered, clinging to his irritation as best he could.

"Tony doesn't do charity," Steve said, leaning back to look at James. "Well, he throws money at things as his way of fixing stuff, but it's not pity or superiority or anything. That's just how he was raised."

That got James' hackles up. "You don't know shit," he said, edging away from Steve's comforting embrace. "You know how much Tony Stark knows about me? That Banner guy too? They seen all my medical records since I joined the Army, all my physicals, all my psych evals, all of it! Hell, I even had to fill out this stupid detailed activity sheet out, so now goddamned Tony Stark knows how many times in a week I scratch my goddamned balls!

"Tony didn't know it was you!" Steve exclaimed. "He only got the redacted data, no names or addresses or anything!"

James froze. "And how do you know that?" he asked, barely able to choke the words out.

Steve went red. "Tony used to tell me about the project, back when it was first starting up," he stammered, and James felt like the floor was falling out from under him. "All he ever told me, all he even _knew_ to start, was gender and type of injury. He didn't know that you were the guy who go the arm."

James put his right hand on the counter top to steady himself, head was spinning. Steve had known about the project, and had to have known what Tony Stark's robot arms looked like.

"When did you know?" James asked. The words were oily and rank in his mouth. "When did you know I had one of Stark's arms on me?"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "The first time I saw you in the parking lot," he admitted. He couldn't meet James' eyes. "I'd seen the design specs all along as Tony was making them, so I knew it was one of his."

Steve knew. From the moment they met, Steve had known more about his arm than James possibly could, and he never said a word.

"Bucky—"

James held up his hand. "Don't," he bit out. "I gotta check on Natasha."

There wasn't enough air in the kitchen. Not looking at Steve, James skirted the edge of the room to escape into the living room. The television was on, showing Ariel involved in some on-land antics, but Natasha was sitting on the window seat, eyes glued to the road.

James went to the window, sat down beside Natasha and pulled her onto his lap. "Daddy, I'm waiting for Clint!" Natasha scolded, but she put her arms around his neck. "It's almost twelve o'clock."

"It sure is." James curled his metal hand carefully around Natasha's waist, to keep her from slipping. Tony Stark's metal hand, and Steve had known all this time and never mentioned it.

Just like he'd never mentioned that he was bisexual, not in all the months James had known him, not until well after that terrible night at the beach where Steve had gotten drunk and kissed James.

"Do you think Clint missed me?" Natasha asked, poking James in the chin.

James took a deep breath. "I bet he did. Did you miss him?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said as Steve edged into James' line of sight, going to sit on the couch. "I missed him when I was at the sleepover. But not too much. Just this much." She removed one arm from around James' neck to demonstrate a space of an inch with her fingers.

"That is just enough." James kissed Natasha's hair. "I love you, kiddo."

"Okay." Natasha wriggled around so she could look out the window again.

James made the mistake of glancing over at Steve. The man looked miserable, biting his lower lip and staring at James. But Steve feeling bad wasn't James' problem, James told himself. This was about his arm, and Steve hiding some _crucial intel_. The whole robotic prosthetic project was supposed to be a new chance for James to be stronger, better… all under the shield of medical confidentiality through the VA. And now, that confidentiality had been broken.

A cold chill washed down James' body. What if they took the arm away from him, now that Tony Stark had been able to put a face and a name to the data? The anonymity of the project had to be there for a reason; what if breaking that ruined the project?

No one had said anything at his physio appointment the previous week, but that had been just after they'd gotten back from the beach. Maybe Tony hadn't had a chance to report in to the VA… but it had been a week now, seven days since James walked into Tony Stark's party and shown the man exactly who was wearing his prosthetic arm.

And now, James might lose that arm. He wouldn't be able to pick things up, to type or hold his phone, and certainly not be able to do the things Natasha needed him to do.

"Daddy, too tight!" Natasha protested suddenly, pushing at him. James moved his right arm from where he'd been hugging her; his left hand was still loose around Natasha's waist.

"Sorry, sweet pea," James muttered. He let Natasha climb down to the window seat and resume her vigil of the road. "I didn't mean to hug you so hard."

"You can hug me, but you gotta say 'bear hug' first," Natasha told him. "It's a law."

"A bear hug law, huh?"

"Yeah." Natasha stuck her finger up her nose. "Bear hugs and starfish hugs."

James tapped Natasha's arm. "Nat, kleenex."

Grumbling, Natasha hopped down from the window seat to scamper over to the coffee table, grabbing a tissue from the box.

"What's a starfish hug?" Steve asked.

"This." Natasha hurried back to the window, and grabbed James' shirt so he lowered his head. When he was within reach, Natasha went in to kiss his cheek, but then blew a raspberry against his skin.

"Ugh," James exclaimed as he pulled away.

Natasha was giggling too hard to stay upright, and even Steve was smiling a little. "How is that a starfish hug?" Steve asked.

"Because," Natasha huffed. "They have _arms_ and they fart on you when you pick them up!"

"That's gross," James told his daughter. She giggled some more. "How about another one?"

 Natasha dutifully administered the second starfish 'hug', leaving spit on James' cheek, then climbed back up to watch for Clint.

"Nat, you're a handful," James said.

"No, I'm almost six." Natasha held out six fingers, three on each hand. "Not five. Five is for little kids."

James shook his head. "You're right on the money with that--"

"Look!" Natasha interrupted, pointing at the road. "It's Clint!"

She was off like a shot, Steve on her heels on the way to the door. James stayed where he was, looking out the window to see Clint bouncing down the road with his mother, who was weighed down under far too many bags. Sharon looked exhausted.

As Clint ran up the steps, James shuffled to his feet. It took Steve a  few tries to open the door, with Natasha bouncing in his way, and then Clint burst into the house, nearly crashing into Natasha and they were both yelling and bouncing and James could feel a headache building in his skull.

With Steve helping Sharon set down her bags, and the children greeting each other as if they had been separated for a century, there was nothing for James to do. Maybe he should go make coffee, keep out of everyone's way.

Then Clint broke free of Natasha's strangling grasp and ran over to James. "I went to the museum!" Clint announced, jumping up and down at James' feet. "I saw dinosaurs!"

"You did?" James caught Clint mid-bounce and hefted him up. The boy's weight pulled on the prosthetic arm's straps, but James didn't react. If he was going to have to give the arm up, he was going to use it to its full potential while he still had it. "What else did you do?"

"I went swimming and ate macaroni and watched a movie and me and Mommy saw _dinosaurs_!" Clint crowed. He hugged James, then kicked his feet until James put him down. "And I got a present!"

Clint dove at the bags, tearing through them. "Let's look in here," Sharon suggested, directing Clint over to his backpack.

"What did you get as a present?" Natasha asked, still bouncing in place.

"I got a dinosaur!" Clint yanked a stuffed tyrannosaurus rex out of his backpack. "Look! His name is Eugene and he's my birthday present!"

Clint fell back against Sharon's side, beaming up at his mother. She smiled back, ruffling his hair. "Why don't you show Natasha the other thing we got at the museum?" Sharon suggested.

"Yeah!" Clint sprang up, shoved Eugene at Steve, then dove back into the bags. He grabbed a bulging plastic sack and carried it triumphantly over to Natasha. "This is for you! I bought it with my _very own allowance_ , for you!"

Natasha snatched the bag from Clint's hand and opened it. Her jaw dropped open. "For me?" she squealed. "You got it for me?"

"Yeah!" Clint said, punching the air. "Now we each have a dinosaur!"

Natasha pulled a stuffed dinosaur from the plastic bag, the same as Clint's except for the colour – Clint's was blue and purple, while Natasha's was red and orange.

"I love her!" Natasha yelled, clutching the toy to her chest.

Steve knelt down beside Clint and Sharon. "That was a nice thing you did, buddy."

"Dinosaurs don't like to be lonely," Clint explained.

"No, they don't," Sharon agreed. She smoothed the hair back from Clint's face. "Clint, can I talk to your daddy for just a few minutes?"

Clint whipped around. "Don't leave," he said, eyes wide.

"I'm not leaving yet." Sharon kissed Clint on the forehead. "I need to talk to Daddy for a bit, and then I'll come say goodbye, okay?"

"Okay," Clint said, some of his energy deserting him.

"I have an idea," James said, stepping forward. "How about Natasha and Clint come with me to go get lunch started. How does that sound?"

"I want lunch," Natasha said, tucking her dinosaur under her arm. "Clint can eat the peanut butter!"

"I like peanut butter," Clint agreed. He let James guide him into the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder several times. "Can I have banana on my peanut butter?"

"If you want." James got the kids to wash their hands, then set the interrupted lunch ingredients on the kitchen table and let the kids go to town. He could hear low voices in the living room, and he wondered what Sharon and Steve were talking about. Clint, obviously, but what else?

Well, that was Steve's business. Steve could tell him later… Or not. Maybe if Steve thought James needed to know, then he'd fill him in, otherwise who knew what might happen, James thought sourly.

"Daddy, open the jam," Natasha ordered, pushing the strawberry jam jar in his direction.

"You s'psed to say please," Clint put in as he mashed banana onto his peanut buttered bread. "Even with daddies."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she said, "Open _please_."

"Of course." James took hold of the jam jar with his left hand, willing the grip to close just until the jar was firm in his grasp. If he had to give the arm back to Stark Industries, he wouldn't even be able to open jars for his little girl.

He took a deep breath. Fuck it. He'd managed with Natasha before he'd gotten the robotic arm, and he could damn well cope if they took it away. He was more than his missing arm, and if anyone said differently, he'd prove them wrong.

"I want the jam," Natasha moaned, breaking James out of his thoughts.

"You gotta give your old man a minute," he said. It took a few tries, but he managed to unscrew the lid. "See, here ya go."

"Jam!" Natasha yelled, grabbing the jar. "Jam and cheese is the _best_!"

James made a face, and Clint giggled through a mouthful of peanut butter.

"…that it might not be as simple as that," Sharon said as she walked into the kitchen with Steve.

"We'll talk about this later," Steve said quietly. "You all having lunch?"

"Mommy, you can have some of my sandwich," Clint said, holding out his half-eaten bread. A sticky chunk of banana dripped off the bread.

"I don't know," Sharon said, but James was already getting to his feet.

"You're welcome to join us," James said, pulling another plate out of the cabinet. "Do you want some coffee?"

Sharon looked at Steve, then at James, then at Clint. She somehow managed to miss seeing Natasha glare in the woman's direction. "Sure, I'd love some coffee," Sharon said with a smile.

While Steve went to get another chair, Sharon settled down beside Clint and began making herself a sandwich. After James put Sharon's coffee on the table, he went over to take the chair beside Natasha. "It's nice that Clint gets to spend time with his mother, right?" James said quietly to Natasha.

"Maybe." Natasha took a savage bite of her sandwich.

James put his hand on Natasha's back. "Nat, it's important to Clint that his mom is here. And when something is important to our friends, we do the best we can to support them."

Natasha chewed angrily.

James sighed. He needed a nap. Or a drink. "And if we can't do that, then we don't say anything at all."

He leaned back in his chair, able to jump into the conversation if he was needed, but Clint was doing enough talking for everyone. He was in the middle of regaling Steve with tales from his night with Sharon. From the sounds of things, Clint had a great time.

After Natasha finished her sandwich, she got off her chair and walked around the table. James tensed, in case his daughter did anything rude like kick Sharon in the shins, but Natasha just climbed up onto the chair beside Clint. The little boy didn't even pause in his story, just shifted over so Natasha could sit, and put his arm around her shoulders. Natasha beamed.

It was so cute, so wonderful, that James pulled out his phone to take a picture of the children.

After another ten minutes, with lunch finished and even Clint running out of steam, Sharon stood up. "I should be going," she said. "I have to go into the office this afternoon."

"No," Clint whispered, grabbing Sharon's hand. "Can you stay?"

"Sorry," Sharon said. She patted his hand. "How about you come say goodbye to me?"

"Okay," Clint said sadly, holding Sharon's hand tight as he slipped off his chair.

"I'll go too," Steve said, following them out of the room.

"Natasha, come help me with the dishes," James said. When the girl made like she was going to follow Clint, James went around to take her by the hand. "Please."

Natasha frowned up at her father. "Why'd we say please?" she asked as she let herself be herded over to the sink. "Sometimes, I don't wanna say please."

"Because." James helped Natasha up onto the step-stool. "If you don't say please, it's like you're demanding. When you say please, you're asking."

"But when you say _please_ , I still gotta do the thing," Natasha pointed out.

"Because you and I both have responsibilities in this family." James turned on the water. "We both have to step up to the plate."

Natasha looked into the sink. "There are no plates here."

James sighed. "I'll clear the table, you can rinse."

Natasha, who loved the spray nozzle on the sink more than life itself, grinned. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, angst over Clint forgotten.

As James cleared the table, he got Natasha talking about her sleepover. Natasha was happy to tell him all the details she had skipped before, like how Madison forgot her pillow and Kate made fun of her until Mrs. McCarthy made her stop, then how Kate cried when she hit her elbow on the table but Natasha didn't make fun of her, not even a little bit, and then they were all friends again and Kate stopped being bossy and Lydia was allergic to eggs and so she got a special cupcake.

James helped Natasha onto the counter before he started loading the dishwasher, and Natasha continued with her stories, about how the baby only cried a little, but he was a cute baby and Natasha gave him a pat on his head and he didn't cry at her, and how Annabelle had a lot of My Little Ponys and she was going to go on a real horse before school started, and Taylor had three cats at home, and Natasha really wanted a cat when she grew up, could she have one?

"You're allergic to cats," James reminded Natasha. In the living room, the door opened and closed, then came the sound of tiny sniffles. "You might grow out of it when you get older, but we'll have to see what Dr. Bennett says." James closed the dishwasher door. "All done. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome." Natasha held out her arms to be helped down, but James picked her up for a hug. "Daddy, if I have to do the dishes all the time, I don't think I wanna grow up."

James kissed Natasha's hair. "Growing up can be hard sometimes," he agreed. Natasha's weight was solid on his right arm. He had carried her before he got the prosthetic arm, had changed her diapers and dried her tears. He could still raise her right, protect her, even if he had to give the arm back.

"Then why'd we do it?" Natasha asked crossly.

"Because when you grow up, you can make your own decisions," James told her. "Like what to have for lunch, and where you get to live."

Natasha yawned, so wide that James yawned too. He was already feeling the long hours of the day. "I wanna live with you until you are dead," she said.

"Sounds good to me." James hugged Natasha for a long minute, marvelling at how fast she was growing up. "I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy." Natasha patted her father on the back. "Down. _Please._ "

James obligingly set Natasha on her feet and followed the girl into the living room. Steve and Clint were curled up on the couch. Clint's tears were under control, but he was still sniffling and clinging to Steve like a starfish.

"Don't be sad," Natasha told Clint. "I will get your dinosaur."

"And Floppy," Clint called as Natasha went to rummage about in the mess of bags. "I want Floppy too."

"Sharon's gone," Steve said, carding his fingers through Clint's hair. "Once she gets a place to live, we're going to talk about Clint going over there for a night a week."

"I miss Mommy," Clint said, and sniffled again.

"I know you do." James settled on the couch beside Steve. "But when you're sad, you can remember the good times you had with her today, and be happy about that."

Clint sniffled, then wiped his nose on Steve's shirt. "I guess," he said sadly. "I liked to go swimming with Mommy, she swims real good. And she let me have waffles for breakfast."

"I had waffles too!" Natasha exclaimed, returning with both Floppy and Eugene the T. Rex. "I had waffles with whipped cream and sprinkles."

"I had chocolate sauce on mine," Clint said, reaching eagerly for his toys. Natasha stuffed them into his arms, then climbed up to squeeze between Steve and James. "And Mommy had bacon and eggs and toast and I had some of her bacon."

"I like bacon," Natasha agreed.

"When we go to Grandpa Abraham's house, we eat turkey bacon," Clint said. He curled around Floppy, and yawned. "I like turkey bacon too."

"You can sure eat enough of it." Steve looked over at James. "You know, I'm thinking that a certain someone may need an N-A-P."

"Maybe two someones," James agreed, as Natasha let out a huge yawn. "Upstairs?"

The suggestion of an afternoon nap was met with much protesting from the children, even as they were separated into their own bedrooms. Natasha argued with James the entire time she got into her pajamas, climbed into bed, and draped herself over Bear. But James held firm, turning off the lights and reading softly from one of Natasha's favourite books in the dim light from the curtained window. After about ten minutes, Natasha closed her eyes, and five minutes after that, she was asleep.

James carefully closed the book and placed it on the floor, out of the way of tiny feet. Hopefully Natasha would sleep for an hour or more, and James would have some time to think.

That idea was dismissed when James got back downstairs, to find Steve sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, head down.

James could have gone into the kitchen, could have pretended he had laundry to do or something. But James had never backed down from a challenge in his life. Squaring his shoulders, James went over to the couch and, after a microsecond of consideration, sat down beside Steve.

"So," he said.

"So," Steve said. The man sat back, rubbing his hands over his face. "Clint's asleep."

"Nat too." James looked at the mess of his living room. "What did Sharon want to talk to you about?"

"She wants to see Clint some, once she's settled. And she wanted to talk about his school."

James blinked, then rubbed his eyes. "You okay with that? Her being in town?"

"Yeah." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so tired. "I want Clint to know his mom, and know she's coming back, so it's not always tears and sadness when she goes away."

"He needs to get to know her again," James said. "It'll take time."

"Time," Steve echoed. "I just hope she hangs around. Clint deserves that."

"Yeah."

Steve took a deep breath, then let it out. "Bucky?"

Here it comes, James thought. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I knew about your arm, when I saw you again."

James shrugged. "It happened."

"Yeah, but I should have told you."

"Not going to argue there." James looked down at the metal hand, stretched the fingers out wide. "I don't know, let's just forget it."

"Do you want to forget about it?"

James curled his metal hand into a fist. He didn't want to give the arm back, didn't want to have to go back to the regular VA-issued prosthetic, not after having spent so much time with this arm. But he had been part of the Army long enough to know that nothing, not even the might of Tony Stark, would be able to stop the wheels of military bureaucracy.

Finally, hours after Steve admitted that he had known about James' arm, James identified the sensation that was churning in his chest.

Anger.

"Bucky," Steve said again, drawing James' attention. "Do you want to forget about it?"

"No," James snapped. He pushed his hair back from his face, frustrated and hating how helpless he felt. "It's just… you say you want to talk about stuff, truth and honesty and all that shit, but it's like you got all these secrets and you keep hiding things from me."

"Like what?" Steve exclaimed.

"Like knowing about this," and James held up his hand. "And how about that whole thing where I thought you were straight?"

Steve sprang up off the couch. "I thought you had read that letter!"

"And you thought I hated you," James muttered. He suddenly felt exhausted; tired and old and worn out.  Letting his head drop into his hands, James wished heartily that he had just kept his damned mouth shut. He didn't know what he'd hoped for when he started talking about his fucking feelings… for a moment, he wishes he was back in the Army, where as long as you didn't start shooting up the mess hall, no one gave a crap about _feelings_.

"Bucky?"

James lifted his head. Steve was kneeling at James' feet, and it was just a dissonant note in the afternoon that James sat back. He had no clue what he was supposed to do.

"I didn't hate you, not really." Steve put his hands on James' knees, tentatively as if James might push him away. "You were my best friend, and I loved you too much to really hate you, even back then."

James put his right hand over Steve's. "You're important to me," he said after a minute, and even then the words sounded weak. "I don't know how to do this and I'm gonna fuck it up."

"You won't fuck it up," Steve said, and leaned down to kiss the back of James' hand. It was such an oddly intimate gesture that James didn't know how to respond. "I might fuck things up, but you won't."

"Stop it," James muttered, pulling on Steve's hand to get the man to sit on the couch before he did any more weird kissing things. "You're not going to fuck things up."

Steve settled onto the couch, putting his arm around James' shoulders and pulling James into a well-muscled embrace. It was so strange, the sensation of being cradled, but half of James' anxiety about the day faded away as Steve held him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Steve whispered in James' ear.

"Okay," James muttered back, closing his eyes as he curled into Steve. The kids were asleep, there was no one else in the house, and James could let himself be held, for a little while. "Just as long as you ain't holding anything else back on me."

"Can't think of anything."

"No secret kids anywhere? You ever rob a bank? Got married and didn't tell me?"

"No," Steve said. His hand was rubbing circles on James' back. "None of that."

"Well, good." James breathed out, the last of the tension fading from his bones. The kids were home and safe, he and Steve were on the path to 'okay'…. Maybe that was all James could ask for.

They sat like that for a while, the sounds of a Brooklyn afternoon filtering in through the window.

Then James asked, "What did Sharon want to talk about Clint's school for?"

Steve groaned. "She asked around, found out how much the tuition fees are," he said, his hand stilling on James' back. "She said I should let her pay for half the school and stuff."

"Did you pull some noble shit about paying your own way?" James asked, poking Steve in the ribs.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Steve demanded. "That school is expensive. Even with the two of us, it's going to be a close thing."

James pulled back. "Are you okay with it?" he asked. He hadn't really thought about how Steve would be paying for Clint's school, even though he knew how much it cost for a year's tuition at St. Ursula's. "I mean, your money, your business, I know, but…"

"Yeah," Steve said, and the ease on his face reassured James more than any words could. "I've got that money from my Stark Industries shares, and I was saving a bit for Clint's college, I put that into the first year. But having Sharon pay half will just make things a little less tight, you know?"

"I get it," James said. He knew Steve had gone to college on student loans, had been living pretty frugally for his entire life. But rent in Brooklyn was expensive, even in Steve's neighbourhood, and how much could Steve's job in fundraising pay, anyway?

"I want Clint to have the best start in life," Steve said. "That just means we're vacationing in New Jersey for a few years instead of California, no big deal."

James leaned back in against Steve. "It is a big deal, what you're doing for Clint," he said quietly. "You know it."

Steve let out a long sigh. "Clint's the best thing in my life," he said after a minute. "I just want him to have everything in life, you know? All the best I can give him."

"You're doing that." James put his arm around Steve, and was gratified when Steve snuggled into the embrace. "You're making sure he can see and hear and all that medical shit, and you've got a nice place and help with his reading and stuff. He doesn't need anything else right now."

"Except a school that I need to sell my lungs for."

James kissed Steve's cheek. "If it gets to be too much, you can take him out at the end of the year."

"I know." Steve put his head on James' shoulder. "This has been one hell of a day."

James looked at the clock. It wasn't even two in the afternoon. And he still had to go grocery shopping. Fuck.

Instead of getting up, James rested his head on Steve's. That could wait.

"Bucky?" Steve said after a while. James grunted to let the man know he was awake. "Did you actually tell Tony how often you scratch your balls?"

James hit Steve in the arm. "It was fucking hyperbole, you ass." Steve's chuckle made James hit him again. "Dick."

"Language," Steve said, still laughing. "There are children upstairs."

"There are children down here." It took a few minutes for Steve's mirth to fade. "I still don't like that Stark knows all that shit about me," James said after a while.

"It's going to be okay," Steve said. His fingers were tracing a pattern on James' thigh. "I told you, Tony takes that medical privacy shit real serious."

"Even now that he knows me."

"Probably more." Steve lifted his head to kiss James, soft and warm. "I know you don't know Tony, but I do, and you can believe me when I tell you that he's the guy you want on your side."

"I trust you," James said, and he meant it, more than anything else he had said in so long.

Steve smiled at that, warm and happy, and wrapped himself around James in a hug. James put his hand on Steve's hair and stared at the wall, thinking.

Steve might have faith in Tony Stark, but James had spent too much time being fucked around by the military bureaucracy to think that he was out of the woods yet. Tony might have some legal obligation in his contract around disclosure if patient confidentiality was compromised, and James didn't know the man well enough to know if Steve's friendship was more important to him than a multi-million dollar contract with the Department of Defence.

James bit his lip. He couldn't talk to Steve about the possibility of losing his arm, not yet. Not until after he'd had a chance to talk to Tony Stark directly, to get an idea of the man and what he would do next.

And the worst thing was, James knew he was a total hypocrite, after all his talk of truth and honesty with Steve. But he had to know what Tony would do with James' arm, and then James could talk to Steve. That was the promise he made to himself, there in that quiet space in the afternoon, before the children woke from their naps to demand ice cream, before the running around for the afternoon's shopping and laundry and chores. And when Steve asked if he and Clint could stay the night, James bit down on his duplicity, held out his hand, and said, "I'd love that."

For now, James had exactly what he wanted in Steve.

He would deal with Tony Stark later.


	26. Ill Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves a character re-living/reflecting on past trauma and sexual assault, in slightly more detail than we've seen before in this story. Please proceed accordingly.
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Ill Wind – Lee Morgan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCmbA6wX1QU)

* * *

Nighttime.

James sat on the brownstone's flat roof, staring out at the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He was so tired.

Down below, an occasional car drove by. Just past three in the morning, and the streets in this corner of Brooklyn were nearly deserted. But it was _noise_ , and so here James sat, his fourth cigarette dangling from his fingers as he tried to work up the courage to go back into the house.

It was the nightmares that drove him out onto the roof, of course; first the nightmares and then waking up with Steve asleep in bed beside him. It was just another reminder of how messed up James was – just when life was going perfectly, his own mind reached up to claw him back, to remind him of all the terrible things he'd witnessed.

James lifted the cigarette to his lips. The smoke filled his mouth, the familiar burn almost enough to block out the memory of desert air, of blood and of bile on the back of his tongue.

It didn't matter, not really. He could smoke four packs a day for the rest of his life and he'd never be able to get rid of that taste.

He was so _tired_.

He wished that he could have pushed through, stayed in bed with Steve until he fell back asleep, but it wasn't that kind of nightmare. It was stillness and horror clawing at him, the dream melting into reality as he opened his eyes to darkness.

The only mercy left to him was that he hadn't woken up screaming.

The cigarette ash burned hot against his fingers. James bent over to stub out the ember on the rooftop, then dropped the butt beside its fellows. His head hurt and his chest hurt and his mouth was dry and foul, but he reached for another cigarette. One more, he told himself. Then he'd go into the house and sit in his office until it was close enough to morning to take a shower without making things weird.

Steve was probably still asleep. He hadn't woken when James had jackknifed out of bed after the nightmare, hadn't so much as twitched as James gathered up his clothes, shivering, before escaping into the hall.

James had checked every window and door in the house, and when he reached the third floor, he found himself climbing the stairs to the roof and stepping outside, taking with him the half-empty pack of cigarettes and lighter he'd hidden up here the last time he'd needed to escape in the middle of the night.

And so, here he was – on the roof of his expensive Brooklyn home, shivering in the night air, sick to his stomach from memory and dreams. It was the darkest hour of night now, the hour of the wolf, when the only things moving in the darkness were ghosts.

He hadn't been this tired since that last night at the beach, after Steve had drunk-kissed him. And then, memory on the heels of memory dragged up another reminder from the past, of another drunk man kissing James. That memory, and the memory of what had come after, made James' stomach flip over.

James barely had time to pull the cigarette away before he dry-heaved over his shoes. Nothing came up, but the bile burned the back of his throat. He waited until the nausea receded, then coughed twice, spat onto the roof, before finally putting the cigarette back in his mouth to resume his silent vigil of the bridge.

Nothing he could do about it now.

He didn't know how long he sat there. The cigarette had long since burned itself out and the sky was beginning to glow indigo in the east when his phone buzzed. It took James a minute to pull the phone from his pocket. The screen showed a text from Steve.

_where are you??_

James' eyes burned as he blinked at the message. He'd lost track of time, and now Steve was awake. James wouldn't be able to sneak down into the shower without Steve demanding some sort of answer.

Slowly, James tapped out, _roof_ , before putting the phone on the ground. He stared at the bridge for a few minutes before the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs made him tense for an attack.

 _It's Steve,_ he reminded himself, and turned his head.

Steve stopped in the open doorway, still wearing the t-shirt and sleep pants he'd put on before they'd gone to bed, so many hours before. "Bucky?" he said. His voice, although quiet, carried through the night air.

"Hey," James said. "Kids okay?"

"Yeah, they're fine." After a few moments, footsteps crunched over the roof until James could feel Steve hovering behind him. "Why are you up here?"

James shrugged. "I don't smoke in the house," he said, because it was as good a lie as any. "Got one left. Want it?"

A pause, then Steve swung around to plant himself in the other lawn chair. "I didn't know you smoked."

James worked the last cigarette out of the pack. "Sometimes," he mumbled as he picked up the lighter. The flick of the flint and the sudden flame were perversely comforting in their familiarity. So too was the quick inhale of warmth, a microsecond of peace before the harsh edge of smoke took over.

Exhaling through his nose, James leaned back in his chair and stared out at the city.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

James sucked in another mouthful of smoke. "You know, Steve," he said, "I love you, but that's one dumb fucking question to ask."

Steve flinched, but he never took his eyes off James. "Do you want me to go?"

James took the cigarette out of his mouth. "No," he muttered, stubbing the butt out against the metal bar of the lawn chair. In that moment, he hated everything – Steve, the nightmares, this large house he'd tied himself to, but most of all himself.

"Is there anything I can do?"

James rubbed his eyes. He wished he could go back in time and not invite Steve to stay the night, wished he could have gotten his ass back downstairs before Steve woke up. And now Steve was asking if there was anything he could _do_ , as if James wasn't a complete disaster of a human being. "No," James said after a too-long pause. He waited, in case Steve had any more dumb questions, but the man just sat in the cheap lawn chair, biting his lip.

The silence between them was miles distant from the calm, quiet happiness James had been basking in over the last few days. This silence bit and clawed, a sharp pressure on the back of James' neck.

Down on the street, a truck drove by, engine rattling loudly. James let out a breath as the memories of Afghanistan came over him again, the trucks in the desert and the shouting of men in that dry, too-thin air.

He had to shake his head to get rid of the memory. It was easier to focus on the bridge, the city across the river, than to look at Steve's concerned, oblivious face. The city had always carried on around James, no matter how much he was falling apart. Steve, on the other hand, would probably be looking at James as the city toppled around them.

James didn't know if he could handle that.

"It was a nightmare," he heard himself saying. "No big deal."

The quiet was so absolute that James could hear Steve's sharp intake of breath. "Does that happen a lot?"

James twitched his shoulder. "Some times."

Steve sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I didn't hear you getting up any at the beach house."

James rubbed his eyes again. "Most of this shit don't get me outta bed," he replied. "Just some nights, it's different, okay? Don't make a big fucking deal outta it."

"Bucky, it's—"

James interrupted before Steve would say another word; he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle Steve's righteous anger now. "It's the shit I gotta deal with, so shut your fuckin' mouth and let me deal with it, all right?"

"All right," Steve said, leaning back. "D'you want to talk about it?"

Fiddling with the lighter, James shrugged. "You wouldn't understand."

"I can still listen."

James flicked the lighter into flame. The brightness hurt his eyes. "Ain't ever had anyone wanting to listen to anything I gotta say."

He snapped the lighter's lid back into place, and tossed the thing onto the rooftop. Steve was quiet, and that was probably the only reason James didn't start screaming.

"You know where I got that?" James asked, gesturing at the lighter. Steve shook his head. "Nick Fury, before he was a social worker, he was in the Rangers. Before Desert Storm, one of the guys was getting out, he gave it to Nick. Someone gave it to him in Vietnam." James nudged the lighter with his toe. "Nick gave it to me just before he shipped out of Afghanistan. Guess I forgot to keep up the tradition."

"When did you start smoking?"

"Dunno. Like, fifteen?" James stared out at the sky, the indigo softening to magenta around the edges of the buildings. "Didn't feel like eating, some days. This took the space."

James had a hazy recollection of those days, when he couldn't stand the thought of anything going down his throat. Even drinking water had made him gag.

But James would cut his own right hand off before he told any of that to Steve.

"Didn't do it much," James went on before Steve asked him anything. "Just sometimes. Doesn't matter."

He rubbed his eyes again. He was so fucking tired, and knowing that Natasha would be waking up in an hour and need his attention for another full day was enough to make his whole body ache.

But he'd signed up for this parenting thing. Natasha was only five and he was the grown up and it didn't matter how little sleep he'd had, he had to get through the day. He'd sleep after she went to bed. Just like every other night he'd woken up from nightmares, over the years since bringing Natasha home.

"Fucking nightmares."

"What was this one about?" Steve asked.

James rested his forehead on his hand, as if propping himself up would keep him awake. "Afghanistan," he muttered. "It's a hell of a place, at least where we were stationed. Dry. I got nosebleeds sometimes, like I'd wake up with a face full of blood some days."

"That's... terrifying."

"You get used to it." James blinked hard as he sat back. "But in the dream, it's cold and the fog's rolling in, and you're out in the mountains all on your own and there ain't anyone for miles, except right here." He waved at the air over his shoulder. "Something's right here. Just waiting for you to turn around, you know?" James dropped his hand. "Guess it doesn't sound that bad."

"Our minds do weird shit when we're asleep," Steve said.

"Yeah." James picked at the lawn chair's armrest with his thumbnail. "All them doctors, after they booted me out of the hospital after this," and he twitched his left arm stump. "They said all the nightmares and shit were normal, that they'd go away after I got settled back in to civilian life. Lying fucks."

The sky was shifting from magenta to orange, yellow teasing along the horizon. There was nothing like a New York sunrise, James thought wistfully. He should know; he'd spent decades of sleepless nights watching the sun rise all over the world.

"What do you normally do when you have a nightmare?"

"Turn on the lights and stare at the walls a lot. Or get some work done. Always more work to do." James caught the expression on Steve's face. "Hey, it's no big deal. You do whatcha gotta do, right?"

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn't look much better than James felt, which was saying something. "Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?" he asked after a minute.

James stared at him blankly. "What happened yesterday?"

"Me not telling you what I knew about your arm," Steve said.

"What? No, fuck that, I get it. Don't worry about that shit." In truth, James hadn't even thought about his Stark prosthetic arm for a while, wrapped up as he was in the disaster of his life. Great, now he remembered he had to worry about that too. "Look, like I told you, I got used to this shit."

"That doesn't make it right," Steve said, frowning.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" James asked, a prickle of electricity running down his spine. He was on the defensive and he hated it. What the hell right did Steve have to come into his life and demand anything of him? "Snap my fingers and hey, no more nightmares? Great idea, why the fuck didn't I think of that?"

"Bucky—"

"So this is me," James kept going. "If you and me are going to do this, then that's something you gotta fucking deal with. I just can't turn this shit _off._ "

"I _know_ ," Steve said. "And I'm in this all the way." He blinked at James. "You and me, whatever it takes. Whatever you need."

Steve probably meant it as a heartfelt declaration of love, but the weight of Steve's words pressed down on James. "You don't know what that means," James said, folding over at the sudden pain in his stomach.

"So _talk_ to me about it. Bucky, please."

James balled his hand into a fist and shoved it against his belly, the press of knuckles hard against his breastbone. "What I said on Friday night." He took a minute to breathe. "About stuff being off the table when we're in bed."

"Yeah?" Steve prompted when the words got stuck in James' mouth.

James leaned forward so the press of his fist against his chest was close to pain. "What if..." He coughed. "What if it gets to a point that you want to do stuff that I just can't do, huh?" He had to blink hard a few times. "What about when you decide you want someone to suck you off, and I _can't_ , or do other shit, I don't, I don't—"

Steve nearly fell over with the speed he hauled his lawn chair over to James' side. "Hey," he said, putting his hand on James' left shoulder. James couldn't bear to look at his face. "I'm in this relationship with you, okay? All of you. Whatever that means, whatever you need. Bucky," and Steve's voice broke, almost pleading. "I'd never do anything to hurt you, and I'd never push you do anything you didn't want to do. I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone in my whole life."

The word _love_ got caught in James' head, raking up memories of too many long-ago nights that started with, _if you love me, you'll let me_..., and ended with James stumbling home after his curfew, ashamed and scared and hating himself for being so _weak_. "Don't say it like that," James burst out. "What does that even mean, huh?"

Steve moved his hand so his fingers were light on the back of James' wrist; touching, not holding. "It means I'll get up early every morning to make you coffee like you like it," Steve said. James bit his lip. "It means I want to sit on the couch and watch movies with you, and talk about everything with you and go places with you."

James looked down, at where Steve was touching him. "We'll have to take the kids," he managed to say over the pounding of his heart. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. No one had ever said anything like this to him, like they actually wanted to spend time with him. With _him_.

"Good," Steve said, and he was sitting close enough to James to lean over to kiss his shoulder. James had to close his eyes. "You and me and the kids hanging out and doing stuff together, that's what I want."

James rested his forehead on Steve's hair. "What else?" he whispered.

"Everything." Steve put his other hand on James' knee. "I want to find out what music you like. I want to buy you flowers, even though you'll probably think it's stupid."

"Won't." James opened his eyes. The sun had broken over the horizon, and soft light was shining on them. "Our kids are going to be up soon."

"Yeah." Steve didn't move. "I could use some coffee."

"Yeah." James closed his eyes again. The euphoria of the last few minutes was fading back into an interminable weariness. "Or a bottle of caffeine pills."

Steve patted James' knee. "How much sleep did you get last night?" he asked.

James shrugged. "Woke up around one. No big deal."

Instantly, James could see that he had screwed up. Steve's eyebrows went up comically fast. "You only got two hours of sleep?"

"Like I said, no big deal." James stood up, his body stiff from the long hours in the lawn chair. "Happens. I'll handle it."

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Steve asked, also rising.

"And what, ask Natasha to mind herself all day?" James bent over to retrieve his phone and the lighter. "It's fine, Steve."

"I can watch them while you have a nap," Steve said. "If you want. Anything you need."

James looked down at his phone. He'd never had anyone offer to watch his little girl before. Over the years, he'd gotten into the routine of existing on very little sleep in the summers, making up for it in the rest of the year by napping while Natasha was in school. It was one of the reasons he'd put Natasha in preschool so early.

But now... could he take Steve at his word? Of course, Steve would watch the kids on his own, but would he be irritated if James slept through the morning?

"Come on," James said, sidestepping the question for now. "Let's get inside before anyone misses us and screams the place down."

" 'kay." Steve went inside ahead of James, waiting at the bottom of the stairs while James locked and bolted the roof door, then together they headed down to the second floor. James paused in Natasha's open doorway. His daughter was still sleeping, having kicked the sheets away in the night. Bear and Dr. Snapples lay forlorn on the floor.

"How the hell do they grow up so fast?" James whispered. Behind him, Steve gave a hum of agreement. "They start first grade in a few weeks, Jesus."

"I know, it's going to be great."

Carefully, James headed down the hall to his room. Steve followed. James went to sit on the side of the bed, aching all over. "Did you mean it?" James asked as he put his phone on the side table.

"About watching the kids? Of course I did."

James rubbed his hand over his face. If he got some sleep now, he'd be better on his feet the next day. And he'd need it, too – he and Maria had a very important meeting with some Winterhill clients on Monday afternoon. "Wake me up if they need anything," he said, and something in Steve's eyes relaxed.

"If it's a crisis, I will come and get you," Steve promised.

James let out a breath. "Don't let Nat each too much sugar," he warned. "You do, you know."

"I'll ration the sugar until this afternoon." Steve was smiling at him. "And we might head out to the park, if the kids have ants in their pants. I'll leave you a note if we do."

"You'd better," James growled, standing up to shuck off his clothes. "I bet they talk you into taking them to the water park, you big softie."

"Probably." Steve was still smiling as James got into bed. "I'll do anything for the people I love."

James paused in laying down. In spite of his exhaustion, he could still remember all those things Steve had said he wanted to do with James, because he loved him.

Loved. Him.

James pushed back the sheet and stood up, crossing the room to Steve. "Hey," he whispered, leaning in against Steve's side. Steve kissed James' temple. "Just... Thanks."

"Any time." Steve kissed James' temple again, but didn't try to hug James or hold onto him in any way, for which James was inarticulately grateful. "I've got my phone in case you want to talk without coming downstairs."

"Water park," James said, stepping back. "I got a fiver on the kids dragging you there before nine." He got back into bed and pulled the sheet back over his hips. "Seriously, you need anything, come get me."

"I will." With a last smile, Steve slipped out of the room and closed the door.

James waited until he heard the door latch click before rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. The room was quiet and warm and smelled like Steve. James pulled Steve's pillow over, tucking it in against his stomach. He didn't really think he'd get much sleep, not with two children in the house on a Sunday morning, but it was nice of Steve to offer. And maybe, if Natasha could keep her excitement towards life to a simmer until after breakfast, he could get a couple of hours in.

Maybe.

And maybe, just maybe, James wouldn't dream.

Maybe...

* * *

Light.

James opened his eyes, head fuzzy and mouth gross. Fucking cigarettes, James thought as he rolled over. The room was as bright as it could get behind the curtains, and the air stuffy. James rubbed at his face as he looked at the clock. Then he looked again, because it couldn't really be half past one, could it?

Blinking himself awake, James pushed back the sheet and sat up. Beside the clock was a folded piece of paper with _Bucky_ on the front.

James checked the time on his phone, just to make sure, but there it was. He had slept until one-thirty, over five hours since he'd fallen into bed that morning.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The house was silent, which was odd, so James picked up the note.

> _Hi Bucky. It's nine and I'm going to take the kids to the water park (ps you owe me $5). We watched some cartoons and had breakfast, and the kids are a bit worried about you but I told them that sometimes grownups need extra naps and that you'll be up when we get back._
> 
> _Text when you're up and I'll bring the kids home. I've got snacks and sunscreen and Natasha's inhaler. The kids are also writing you notes before we go - I'll leave them on the kitchen table._
> 
> _Love you,_
> 
> _Steve_

James traced the lines of Steve's name. Part of him was happy, but he was just mostly confused. The previous night, up on the roof, he'd been a complete mess. And here Steve was taking care of the kids, writing him nice notes, and letting James sleep.

James didn't understand why Steve wasn't running away.

Placing the note back on the table, James looked at his phone. He could text Steve to bring the kids home, but that would just get loud. Maybe he'd have a shower first, a cup of coffee, then text.

Just a few minutes to himself.

James took a long time in the shower, washing his hair three times to get out the smell of smoke. Then he shaved carefully with his safety razor, almost a treat for how rarely he had the personal time for it.

Everything was going great until he started brushing his teeth. He got careless and the brush went back too far on his tongue and the next moment he was on his knees by the toilet, puking up a stomachful of bile. He waited until the heaving stopped before sitting back on his heels, staring at the yellow mess in the toilet bowl.

He hadn't puked from brushing his teeth in months, no matter how bad the nightmares had been, or how many memories they dragged up.

_Fucking weak._

James spat into the toilet, then flushed as he stood up. He wasn't about to let his weaknesses control him, however, so he picked up his toothbrush and got back to work.

He only had to pause twice to make sure he wasn't going to trigger his gag reflex, but he got his mouth somewhat clean. On the way out of the bathroom, he dropped his toothbrush into the trash. He'd get a new one at the store. Maybe that would help.

Back in his bedroom, James stepped into clean underwear and jeans. He didn't want to put on his metal arm, not on a Sunday, but if he had to give the thing back to Tony Stark, he may as well get a few more solid days of use out of it. Maybe he could finish fixing the downstairs door like he'd been meaning to, or clean out the detritus from the third-floor storage rooms. Maybe Natasha would need help with her hair, or want him to put her art up on the wall, something he'd need two hands for.

And after that.... Well, James had made things work with a toddler and a prosthetic claw before. He could make it work again.

Perhaps the only good thing in this whole mess, James reflected sourly, was that he wasn't worried about Steve being freaked out by his armless situation.

"Go team," James muttered as he reached for the robot arm.

Once he was properly outfitted for the day, James texted Steve with an _up_ , then went downstairs. He wasn't sure he trusted his stomach for food yet, but there was at least one thing he could rely on to stay down. A glass of ice water, made fresh with clean water just barely above freezing, was as far away as he could get from his nightmare of war.

Luckily, it was summer and he had lots of ice.

Taking small sips of water, he drifted over to the table. On its surface lay two folded pieces of construction paper. James picked up the red paper first. On the outside of the card were the words, "To Daddy," in Natasha's shaky hand. Smiling, James opened the card.

> _dear daddy_
> 
> _you are my daddy. you are a nise daddy. No daddy is as nise as you. I will live with you untill you are ded._
> 
> _sinsearly_
> 
> _Natasha Barnes_

James had to put down the card and blink hard. His little girl was growing up so fast. It felt like it was just yesterday he had brought her home from the hospital, a tiny baby unable to hold up her head, and now she was able to write all by herself.

Wiping his eyes, James set the card on the table so he'd be able to see it all day, then picked up the folded piece of yellow construction paper. The front held only one letter, a large purple J. Inside on one side of the card was the drawing of a large purple bird, with _Clint_ written across the other side in large letters. James set it next to Natasha's. He'd put the cards in his office, next to Natasha's school pictures and the other pieces of artwork he had hung there. It would help remind him what he was working for.

But here he was, with the afternoon wasting away, and Steve would be home soon with the kids. James went over to the cupboard and pulled the stand mixer, then started to assemble the ingredients for cookies. He had the cookies in the oven and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher by the time the front door slammed open.

"Daddy?"

"Cookies?"

_"Daddy!"_

"I smell _cookies_!"

"Bucky?"

"In the kitchen," James said, wiping his hand on a dishtowel. A moment later, the pounding of tiny feet brought Natasha and Clint into the room, both with their damp towels still over their shoulders.

"Daddy!" Natasha screamed in delight. James went down on his knee for the children to crash into him. "We went to the _water park_!"

"I had a taco for lunch!" Clint chimed in, clinging to James just as tightly as Natasha was. "And we played dinosaurs in the water!"

James hugged the children, unable to speak around the lump of happiness in his throat. How was he so lucky, to have ended up with the life he had?

Steve appeared in the kitchen doorway, dropping armfuls of the kids' stuff to the ground. "Hey, guys," Steve said, "Are you letting Bucky breathe?"

"I'm good," James said. "These are good hugs."

"Yeah, we give good hugs," Clint threw over his shoulder at his father. Natasha giggled as she kissed James' cheek.

"Daddy, Steve said we had to be _so quiet_ this morning," she told him as she poked at his earlobe. "Because you were _a-sleeping_."

"Yes, I was," James said, smiling at Steve.

"Did we do the quiet right?"

"You did it perfectly. I didn't hear a thing." James kissed Natasha's forehead and then, just because, Clint's forehead too. The children both giggled.

"Daddy, why are there cookies?" Natasha asked, patting James' cheek with her hand. "Your face is smooth. Smooth like a bum."

Clint cracked up at this line, and Natasha laughed at the expression James pulled. "There are cookies because I know two little monsters who love cookies." James set the kids on their feet and stood himself. "Come on, let's see how they're doing."

The children made a beeline to the oven and stared in through the glass, heeding Steve's quickly snapped "No touching the stove!"

"Cookies," Natasha breathed reverently.

"I love cookies," Clint chimed in. He had his finger up his nose. "But maybe I love cake more."

"Only cake with icing," Natasha countered. "Chocolate icing. On a spoon."

"With a candy bird," Clint agreed. "Natasha, you are smart."

Natasha took her eyes off the cookies to grin at Clint. "Thanks! You are smart too. But I like dinosaur candy better."

Steve stepped up to James' side, close enough that James could feel the warmth radiating off his body. "Hey," Steve said, and James' attention was distracted from the children. "You doing okay?"

James nodded. "Yeah. I needed this morning." He slid his hand into Steve's, and it was like some puzzle piece in his head snapped into place. He breathed in. "Thank you."

"I meant it," Steve said, staring at James with an overwhelming intensity. "Anything you need."

James squeezed Steve's hand. "Me too," he promised quietly, his chest aching at how much he loved Steve, how much he'd do for him. "Anything you need, any time. Just tell me."

"I will. Bucky..."

The stove timer went off then, making the children scream. "Cookies!" they shouted, bouncing up and down as the adults separated, James to move the kids back from the oven while Steve rescued the cookie sheets. "Cookies!"

"They need to sit for a few minutes," Steve said, setting the oven mitt on the counter. "Tell you what, you both run upstairs and change into clean clothes, and when you get back the cookies will be ready to eat."

With more screaming, the children stampeded for the stairs. James leaned against the counter. "They had lunch already?"

"Yeah, we got tacos from a food truck," Steve said. "They had enough, but I'm still starving."

"Leftovers from last night in the fridge," James suggested. "You want cookies too?"

"Nah, I'll wait." Steve touched James' arm as he walked past to the refrigerator. "The kids had a great time, but Natasha kept saying that next time you have to come with us."

"I'll see how it goes," James said. "I got a busy week."

"And next weekend should be interesting," Steve said, digging through the fridge. "Abraham called, he's going to be down on Friday for a few days."

"Oh." James felt his energy deflate a little. Not that he didn't like Abraham Erskine, but he selfishly wanted time with Steve himself. But he'd just said he would do anything Steve wanted, and he knew how much Abraham meant to Steve. "You got stuff planned?"

"Not yet," Steve said, carrying a mountain of Tupperwared leftovers over to the counter. "We'll figure it out, it's usually pretty casual."

"Let me know," James said. He went around Steve to get the milk jug out of the fridge. "And we need to figure out what we're going to do for Skye for the end of the summer."

"Give her an envelope of money?" Steve asked. James elbowed him in the back on the way to get glasses.

"The kids will want to do something nice," James scolded. As if summoned, footsteps pounded overhead. "And also an envelope of money. Honestly, where's your sense of occasion?"

"Cookies!" came the excited shouts as Clint and Natasha rushed into the kitchen. Natasha plopped Bear onto the table. "Daddy, Bear needs cookies too."

"Sure, why not," James said. "Clint, you good?"

Clint, whose shirt was on inside out and backwards, beamed at James. "I love cookies!" he exclaimed.

James and Steve exchanged a glance. "I'll get them," James said.

"I'll pour the milk," Steve put in. It was a crowded few minutes before everyone was at the table with their cookies and milk (the kids), ice water (James) and enough leftovers for a family of four (Steve). James relaxed into his chair as the children told him all the details of their day at the waterpark, and about the excitement of eating from a food truck, and of playing water dinosaurs.

As he listened, James got up twice to refill the ice in his glass. He was having a much better day than he usually did after a nightmare – it must have been the extra sleep and, if he was being honest with himself, the space to not have to deal with Natasha as soon as he woke.

Steve, too, had helped. He'd listened to James, and he hadn't judged, or told James it was his fault, or anything that had made James bottle everything up all these years.

James had known he was in love with Steve, but he had spent so much of his life focusing on what he couldn't have, that he'd never thought about what love really _meant_.

But here, in a cookie-scented kitchen on a nice summer day, with everyone James loved in one room, he let himself bump his knee against Steve's under the table, and Steve smiled at him, and in that moment, even with all that James had been through the night before, it was the most perfect moment that James had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few words about healing and recovery from trauma
> 
> Healing isn't linear - not every day is better than the last, and it's not like you can deal with past events before you deal with more recent ones. The brain deals with things as they come up, through reminders via external stimuli or memories, and it'll make connections between things that make no sense to the conscious mind.
> 
> Healing doesn't happen in discrete chunks – you don't recover from one thing and then have it never bother you again, especially if you have other things happen to you later in life.
> 
> Healing isn't a checklist – every one is different, and everyone's reactions to events and their situation in life is different. There's no checklist to tick things off, to say, okay, if I do X, Y, then Z, I'll be better.
> 
> Healing takes time. Each and every day brings new experiences and new challenges. And there's always new good things in the world, no matter how much it doesn't seem so sometimes.
> 
> Here are two websites with good information on trauma if you're interested in learning more
> 
> Symptoms, Treatment, and Recovery for Emotional and Psychological Trauma: <http://www.helpguide.org/articles/ptsd-trauma/emotional-and-psychological-trauma.htm>
> 
> PTSD in Military Veterans: Symptoms, Treatment, and Self-Help: <http://www.helpguide.org/articles/ptsd-trauma/ptsd-in-veterans.htm>
> 
> Helping a Loved One, Friend, or Family Member with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: <http://www.helpguide.org/articles/ptsd-trauma/ptsd-in-the-family.htm>


	27. Goodbye Pork Pie Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Goodbye Pork Pie Hat by Charles Mingus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxz9eZ1Aons) (this is the extended version of the song and it's probably the best thing I've heard all month)

* * *

Steve and Clint spent a lovely Sunday afternoon at James' house, heading off around four. Privately, James was glad for the space; it had only been two days since everything in his life changed with Steve, and his head was still a bit messed up from his nightmares the previous night.

Natasha was quiet after they left, helping James with the overdue chores. Father and daughter talked about Natasha's morning at the water park, and reminisced about the beach trip and the sleepover. Dinner was roasted chicken and a hodgepodge salad from the garden, and after they ate Natasha demanded a pre-bedtime screening of _Lilo and Stitch_. James acquiesced, although with a squiggle of guilt over the uncompleted work for his meeting the next day.

After the movie, when James was tucking Natasha into bed, Natasha said, "Daddy, I think I like Lilo the best."

"You do, huh?" James picked up Dr. Snapples from the floor. "How come?"

"Lilo is a little girl like me," Natasha said, solemnly accepting the koala. "I like Mulan because she fights in the army, and Merida because she shoots arrows like Clint, and Ariel because she swims in the ocean. But Lilo does dance like me and she has a best friend who is a monster."

James sat on the edge of Natasha's bed. This was a change from her previously voiced dislike of monsters. "Is Stitch an okay monster?"

"Uh huh." Natasha yawned. "Like in the book we read. With Max. There are good monsters who go rarrr!" She demonstrated her best monster growl. "And like Stitch. I used to be scared of all the monsters, but now I'm only scared of the bad monsters."

James smoothed the hair back from Natasha's forehead. "How do you know if a monster is good or bad?"

"You gotta think about it," Natasha told her father. "If a monster looks scary, that doesn't mean they are scary. Some monsters who look real scary are really nice on the inside. Like Cookie Monster."

James smiled at Natasha. "That's a very grown-up way of looking at things," he said, and Natasha beamed.

"That's what Mrs. McCarthy said at the sleepover," Natasha explained. "That sometimes nice people look scary, but they're really nice! So you gotta remember, it's what they're like on the inside." She gave a sage nod.

James straightened the thin summer blanket over Natasha's chest. "Just like Stitch, huh?"

"Yeah." Natasha snuggled down, content after a long day. "Okay, Daddy, read me a story now."

James got up to peruse the bookcase. His heart was pounding in his chest, memories circling in his head of the monsters of his past, some imagined and some painfully real. He had to take a deep breath to focus. He was safe, Natasha was safe, and across town, Steve and Clint were safe.

Everyone he loved was safe.

"Dadd _eeee_!"

"Coming, sweet pea." James pulled _Pippi Longstocking_ off the shelf. "How about a rerun?"

"Okay."

The long day caught up with Natasha by the second chapter, and she was out like a light soon after. James turned off the light and headed downstairs. He was exhausted, but jittery. The dishwasher was still chugging through its cycle, and the white noise was all James could stand. He gave his head a shake. He had responsibilities, and no amount of exhaustion or mental turmoil could erase the fact that he had to work to provide for his little girl.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, James got to work.

* * *

James was awakened by the beeping of his phone. He grabbed at it blearily, to see a text message from Steve.

_Hey we're on our way! See you in a bit!_

Accompanying the text was a father-son selfie from the subway platform. Clint was holding his purple birthday bandana and grinning like a maniac, and Steve… Steve looked _happy_.

James smiled at the photo. _see u when u get hre_ , he texted back, then made himself get up and out of bed.

Natasha's bedroom was a dishevelled mess, but held no little girl. James went to the staircase landing and yelled out, "Nat?"

"I'm in the kitchen!" came the distant reply. James yawned his way down the stairs and across the living room, to find his daughter sitting at the kitchen table with Bear, a book, and a small milk carton.

"Morning, sweet pea." James made his way over to kiss Natasha's cheek. "You're up early."

"I wanted to read the monster book." Natasha turned the book so James could see the pages. "And you were sleeping so I was _quiet_. Just like yesterday." She looked at him expectantly.

"That was very nice of you." James pulled a chair over beside Natasha. "But you know, it's okay if you wake me up. I'm the dad, I can handle it."

Natasha frowned. "Steve said we had to let you sleep yesterday."

"I know." James patted Natasha's hand. "But if you ever need anything, at all, you can come wake me up."

"What if I have a bad dream?"

"Yes."

"What if there's a bad monster under my bed?"

"Yup, then too."

"What about if I want to watch cartoons but there's no good cartoons on?"

James tapped the end of Natasha's nose. She giggled. "What do you think?"

"Maybe only if it's an emergency," Natasha conceded. "Maybe only if I'm _really_ bored."

"Good idea." James gave Natasha's hand a little shake. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Scrambled eggs!"

"Hmm, it sure is a lot of work to make scrambled eggs," James said with a frown. "Do you think you can help me?"

Natasha jumped off her chair. "I'm gonna crack the eggs!" she shouted on her way to the fridge.

James levered himself to his feet. "Now that sounds like a great plan."

* * *

Breakfast was over and James just tidying the dishes when Steve and Clint arrived. While the children greeted each other as if they had been separated for years and not sixteen hours, Steve set Clint's backpack down by the stairs.

"Hey," James said, his stomach fluttering at the sight of Steve, wearing one of his suits and dressed for the day. Steve was clean-shaven, his hair a little mussed from the wind, and all James wanted to do was to touch him.

"Hey," Steve said, smiling his most wonderful smile. "How you doing?"

"Okay," James said, giving a shrug. "Had a lotta work last night, so's I slept a bit late. But Nat was great and let me sleep."

"Good." Steve glanced over at the children, who were now having a giggle-fit as they wrestled books out of Clint's backpack. "I missed you last night."

James jabbed his elbow against Steve's side. "You pretty much spent the whole weekend here."

Steve leaned against James, putting his hand on James' back where the kids couldn't see. "And it was great."

James let out a breath. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It was really great." He swallowed around the sudden lump of emotion in his throat. "Can you stay for coffee?"

"Not today," Steve said regretfully. "I need to head in. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah." James leaned experimentally towards Steve, and the man slipped his hand up under James' shirt. Damn, but James could spend his entire day like this. "I got a work meeting in the city this afternoon, should be back by six. Skye's good to stay 'til then, I asked her last week."

Steve hummed as the children dashed into the kitchen. "You want me to pick up some dinner on my way home?"

"Are you staying for dinner?" James asked. Steve's hand stilled on his back. "I mean, you can if you want."

"Yeah, if you want us to." Steve pulled away. "I should have asked first."

"No, it's not…" James rubbed at his chin, frustrated with himself and not understanding why. "You can stay over whenever you want, okay?"

Steve very carefully put his fingers on James' wrist. "I should have asked first," he said again.

James turned his hand, sliding his fingers through Steve's. "You know, Steve, you're all right."

Steve squeezed James' hand. "Aw, you're making me blush."

James rolled his eyes. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

"Yup." Steve glanced towards the kitchen, where the children were making happy noises, and then stepped closer to James. "I gotta get going. Kiss?"

"Like this?" James leaned in to kiss Steve's cheek. The expression on Steve's face when James moved back was priceless. "What, you got something else in mind?"

Steve opened his mouth, then his eyes narrowed. "I'm always up for anything you want to give me," he returned.

"Well, in that case." James stepped forward, pressing against Steve's muscular body. "I do got something else I wanna give you."

He kissed Steve on the mouth, the thrill of it all running from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Steve was warm and smelled really great, and when he wrapped his arms around James' back, James felt _safe_.

And really turned on.

Steve broke from the kiss after a minute and rested his forehead against James'. "I need to go to work," he said, breathing hard. "Fuck."

James brushed the tip of his nose against Steve's, breathing a bit hard himself. "Yeah, I know."

"I wish I could stay here all day."

James put his hand around Steve's neck. "You got work."

"Can it be the weekend already?"

"Your dad's coming into town, remember?"

"Urgh." Steve put his cheek on James' shoulder, leaving James to pat him on the back consolingly.

"You could always call in sick."

"No," Steve said, his lips tickling James' throat. "That's a bad example for the children."

"Whatever." With a final back-slap, James separated himself from Steve. "Hey, kids!" he shouted. "Steve's leaving!"

"Wait!" came Clint's hysterical shout from the kitchen. "Wait for me!"

The children came tearing into the living room, Clint running so fast that he crashed into Steve's legs. "Easy, buddy," Steve said as he knelt down. "I'm just going to work."

"Do we got swim lessons tonight?" Clint demanded, while Natasha bounced up and down beside him.

"Nope, lessons are over for the summer." Steve ruffled Clint's hair. "We start up again in a couple of weeks."

"Aw, man!" Clint groaned.

"Daddy, I want to go swimming," Natasha put in. "Right now."

"Not today," James said as he went to open the front door. "Skye's coming over and she'll have a full day of stuff for you two little rabble-rousers."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at his father. "I wanna go swimming," he grumbled.

"Not today." Steve pulled Clint into a hug. "Skye's going to get here and you can tell her all about your weekend, and about seeing your mommy, how does that sound?"

"Okay," Clint said sulkily, hugging Steve. Natasha jumped into the fray, hugging both Steve and Clint at the same time, and soon enough everyone was laughing as Steve pretended to collapse from the weight of the children.

It took a few minutes to get everyone to their feet, and James herded the children to the window to wave Steve off. Once the man had vanished around the corner, James said, "Okay, now what?"

"I'm hungry," Clint said, turning wide eyes on James. "I didn't have any breakfast. Not at _all_."

James doubted this. "Not even a little?"

Clint squirmed and looked down. "Maybe I had a _little_ ," he conceded.

"Daddy, can Clint have _more_ breakfast?" Natasha asked. "Can I have more breakfast too?"

"You already ate, remember?"

"Yeah, but I'm hungry now _too_."

James sighed. He'd read all the parenting blogs about hungry children, and he wasn't about to start making food an issue now. "How about round two on scrambled eggs and toast?"

Clint punched the air. "Yay!"

"Yes, Daddy," Natasha said, and together they all tromped into the kitchen for the next round of breakfast. Clint was indeed hungry, knocking back most of the scrambled eggs and a piece of toast, while Natasha nibbled her second slice of toast and ignored the eggs.

Skye showed up just after eight. The children greeted her with much enthusiasm, hardly letting her through the front door before tackling her with overlapping stories of their weekends. James helped Skye put down her bags, locked the front door behind her, and left the excited children in Skye's capable hands to run upstairs for a shower.

He had all the work done for his meeting that afternoon, and was going to meet Maria in Manhattan at two. He didn't have anything else to do that day, and he spent his time in the shower wondering if he should bum around the house that morning, or maybe go drop in on a few of their active job sites, to make sure things were going okay.

After his shower, James shaved, briefly pondered his hair, then headed into his bedroom to get ready for the day. Patting his stump dry, he looked at the prosthetic arm for a long minute. His mind drifted back to the fight he'd had with Steve on Saturday, to the worries about having to give the arm back to Tony Stark.

James ran his fingers down the metal arm's plating. The Stark prosthetic was a marvel, letting James do so much more than he'd been able to manage with just a regular prosthetic claw. But he'd known when he signed up for the program that it was all just temporary; that when the study was over, he'd have to turn the arm back over to Stark.

This would just be cutting that time short. No sense in getting angry about it.

Still, James curled his fingers around the metal arm's bicep. Everything was so much _easier_ with this prosthesis.

Then again, there hadn't been a whole hell of a lot in James' life that had ever been easy. Turning his back on the arm for the moment, James went to get dressed.

* * *

James came out of his office, ready for the day. He set his briefcase by the door before going in search of the children. Voices drifted through the empty kitchen, and James followed the sounds out into the backyard.

The kids were on the deck in their painting smocks, solemnly smearing paint on small plastic cups. They didn't so much as look up when James came outside.

"Hey," he said to Skye. "I'm thinking of heading off early."

"We're good," Skye said. She looked exhausted. "We're making maracas."

"Gee, thanks," James said, which made Skye smile slightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She pushed her hair back behind one ear. "My roommate got promoted at work and we were celebrating." Skye shook her head. "I'm too old for champagne."

"Skye," Clint interjected without looking up from his painting, "Are you _old_?"

"How old are you?" Natasha added.

"I am twenty-six," Skye answered. Clint's head snapped up, his mouth open in an _O_. "Is that old?"

"So old!" Natasha cackled. "You're almost older than Daddy, and he's as old as the oldest guy who ever lived!"

James sighed. "Natasha, it's not polite to tell someone that they are old."

Natasha made a face. "But you are!"

"Daddy was twenty-six when I was born," Clint said, still staring at Skye. "And Mommy was twenty- _five_."

"When I get old, I'm going to fly a plane," Natasha put in. She held up her painted cup admiringly. "This is nice. I like red."

Clint, however was not to be distracted. "Uncle Tony is thirty-nine," he said. "And Uncle Bruce is so old! He's forty-two. He says that's the best age."

A movement along James' side, and he looked down to see that he had curled his metal hand into a fist. Frowning, he willed the hand to flatten out. He usually had to concentrate to get the prosthetic hand to move.

Natasha jumped up. "Skye, what's next?"

Skye rolled her shoulders back, sitting up straight. "What's next is that you say goodbye to your dad, then we get out the glue gun."

"Bye, Daddy," Natasha said, not looking at him.

"Yeah, bye," Clint echoed. He set down his paintbrush to join Skye and Natasha.

James raised his eyebrows. "What's this?" he demanded, half-jokingly. "Steve gets a hero's farewell, and I get the bum's rush?"

Clint burst into laughter. "You said _bum_ ," he managed to say, before laughing some more.

Natasha glared up at her father. "You are _interrupting_ ," she said scathingly. "We are doing _art_."

James sighed again. He really brought these things on himself. "Okay, fine. Have a fun day with Skye, okay?"

"Okay." Natasha went back to her painting.

"You too, Clint."

"I will!" Clint came over to James to pat the back of his hand. "Goodbye, you."

"Bye." James stood up, gave Skye a commiserating half-smile, then went back into the house to grab his keys and briefcase and head out.

He got into the jeep and headed south through Brooklyn, aiming for Staten Island. He spent a couple of hours at a construction site in Westerleigh, chatting with the foreman and checking on how the walls were going up, before packing up and heading over a few blocks to grab some lunch from his favourite diner in this part of town, sandwiched in an old strip mall between a nail shop and a flower stall.

As he was finishing up his pastrami sandwich, his phone lit up with a notification from Skye. _The kids and I are going for a walk along the river to see if we can find a new playground,_ the message read. _Back around three_.

Moments later, a photo popped up on the screen, of Clint and Natasha squished in next to Skye, with everyone wearing their hats and sunglasses and grinning like maniacs at the camera.

Smiling, James texted back, _take lotsa pics n have fun_ , before making eye contact with the waitress for his bill.

As he was waiting for his change, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was Maria. _We still good to meet at two?_

 _Im in Statn Isle but will be thre y 2_ , James replied.

_Why_

_Y wat_

_Why are you in Staten Island?_

_bc i work n stuff_

His phone rang. With a sigh, James picked it up. "Hi, Maria."

"Is something wrong with the Hernandez project?" she asked without preamble.

"Nah, I needed an excuse to get out of the house for a while," James replied. "Everything's on time and on schedule."

"Thank god."

"Hey, next time you can drive out to Staten Island if you want."

Maria made a small noise of disgust.

"Snob."

"Call me whatever you want, just get here by two."

"Yeah, yeah."

They hung up, James collected his change and headed out for the long drive back to Manhattan.

* * *

Maria was already in their usual coffee shop when James arrived. "Took you long enough," Maria said from behind an extra-large latte.

James glared as he dumped his briefcase onto the chair. "It's two-ten."

"They teach you how to tell time like that in the Army?"

"You make a lot of jokes for a Fed."

"Ex-Fed," Maria snapped back. "If you're going to get something, buy me a slice of lemon loaf."

James rolled his eyes, but headed to the counter to get Maria her lemon loaf and himself a double espresso. If he was going to make it through a two-hour meeting with their new clients, he'd need as much caffeine as he could get.

Once he was seated again, Maria waited all of five seconds to ask, "How did you survive Natasha's sleepover?"

"It was okay," James said around a slurp of coffee. Maria wrinkled her nose at him. "Well, no, it sucked, but Nat had a good time."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Sorta." James put his cup down. He fiddled with the little spoon on his saucer. "Steve sorta left Clint with his mother and came over to spend the night."

Maria set her mug down with a clatter. She didn't say anything for so long that James looked up. Her eyes were wide. "How did that go?" she asked carefully.

James shrugged. "It was, uh… it was good. Real good."

Maria reached out to cover James' right hand with hers. "Good," she said quietly, squeezing James' hand. "You deserve to be happy."

James couldn't swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. He blinked hard and made himself smile, pretend like he wasn't feeling anything. "Hey, I'm a happy guy," he said. "Got me a great kid, nice house, make a lot of money, what else could I need?"

Maria, because she was Maria, smiled to show James that he wasn't fooling her. "You make sure you take care of yourself, okay?"

James nodded. Maria squeezed his hand again, then let him go.

"Good, because now you and me need to figure out how we're going to deal with the old boys' club at the Kestrel Foundation."

"Fucking think tanks," James muttered under his breath. "Well, I'm the gay cripple raising a child out of wedlock, and you're the ex-Fed."

"Oh, please." Maria sat back. "You've got that Brooklyn blue-collar thing going for you. I'm going to have to go full-on ice queen for anyone to listen to a damned thing I say."

James sighed. "We can put the brakes on this job," he pointed out. "With what we've got going on this fall, we can coast a little."

Maria shook her head. "This contract will be a huge step up for us," she said regretfully. "We're talking big leagues, Barnes."

"I know."

"So what's up?"

James knocked back the rest of his cooling espresso. "It's… when I was a kid, my dad worked all the time, like _all_ the time, you know? And like, fuck him, whatever, but I don't want to be like that with Nat."

"It's just one job," Maria said quietly. "We do this and you don't want to do another like it, then like you said, we don't."

"Yeah," James said. "Yeah, I know."

Maria kicked him gently in the shin. "You don't sound like you're all in."

James stared down into his empty espresso cup. "When I first brought Natasha home, I thought if I made enough money to keep her fed and clean, that would be all she'd need. Now… I don't know. We had such a great time at the beach, and she gets along so great with Clint, and with Steve…" James rubbed at his eyes. "I dunno. I already got one extra chance at life after this," and he twitched his metal hand, "Maybe I think I'm gonna fuck everything up."

"You're not going to fuck anything up," Maria said immediately. "Natasha is fine, and I'm pretty sure that Steve's going to be fine with you two being…" She waved her hand expressively. "Whatever you are. Everything's fine." She stood. "Now, I'm going to go powder my nose. Watch my stuff." She slapped him on the shoulder. "Good therapy session."

James made a face at Maria's retreating back. "Therapy, my ass," he muttered as he pulled out his phone. They had twenty minutes to make it over to the Kestrel Foundation's temporary offices, which would be enough time for James to take all his uncertainties and worries and shove them down deep in his head. It was hard enough to make it through these meetings with new clients without him also freaking out about his personal life.

So he did what he had learned in high school and perfected in the Rangers: Buckle down, repress, and pretend to be the person the world wanted him to be.

When Maria returned from the bathroom with perfect burgundy lipstick and eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man, James stood. "Shall we?" he asked, voice just a bit harder than it had been before.

Maria picked up her bag. "After you, Sergeant Barnes," she said, and smiled an icy smile.

It was time for WinterHill to go to work.

* * *

James set his briefcase down on the hall table, feeling as if he was about to fall over. "I'm home!" he shouted before turning to arm the alarm. "Who's here?"

"Daddy!" came Natasha's scream from the kitchen, then the pitter-patter of tiny elephants as Natasha and Clint stormed out to meet him. "Daddy, you came home!"

"I sure did," James said, going down to give the children a hug. "Ooh, I missed you two today."

"We didn't miss you!" Natasha exclaimed in his ear. "Not at all!"

"Maybe a little," Clint put in, leaning back to pat James on the cheek. "We went to a new playground! And I fell off the merry-go-round!" He held up his knee, sporting a new bandage spotted with blood, for James' examination.

"Ouch," James said, nearly tipping over as Natasha jumped into his side. "Nat, honey, give me a break, okay?"

"I didn't fall off the go-round," Natasha said proudly. "I almost did, but I didn't!"

At this point, Steve wandered out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The man looked exhausted. "Hey," he said with a tired smile.

"Hey," James said, and smiled back. Just the sight of Steve could send his heart racing and butterflies dancing in his stomach, and suddenly everything was all right. "Skye still here?"

"I sent her home, I had everything handled." Steve tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder. "Kids, can you give Bucky a minute to breathe?"

"Nope!" Natasha exclaimed, but she let go of James' neck. "Daddy, we're going to have a case of _deeds_ for dinner!"

"Quesadillas," Steve corrected. "You had cheese and beans here, I picked up some tortillas on the way home."

Natasha punched the air. "Cheese!" she shouted, then ran back into the kitchen, Clint limping along in her wake.

James let out a sigh. "He okay?"

"Yeah." Steve reached down to take James' hand to haul him up to his feet. "He just scraped the skin off his knee. He's been better this summer; his scabs usually have scabs."

"That sucks," James said, rolling his shoulders back, wishing the ache in his spine would go away. "How was your day?"

Steve twitched his left shoulder. "Fine. I should get back into the kitchen."

There was something in Steve's expression that made James reach out to touch the man's arm. "Is Clint really okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Steve almost said something else, then checked himself with a rueful smile. "Yeah, Clint's really fine."

"What about his dad?"

Steve turned back to James, sliding his hand over James' hip. "His dad is wondering why the fuck he had to grow up, that's all."

"Shit day at work?"

Steve shook his head. "Post vacation hangover, that's all."

James edged closer to Steve. "We got back a week ago," he reminded Steve.

"I know." Steve slid his hand around to James' back, stepping full against James' body. Steve was warm and here and the only thing James had to do was to lean in just a fraction, and kiss him.

Steve's mouth opened at the touch of James' lips, his tongue sliding against James', and James couldn't hold back a soft moan. Steve's arms tightened around James' body, and in that moment, everything was perfect.

From the kitchen, the sound of a sudden _ttchka-ttchka-ttchka_ made James jerk back. "What the…"

Steve groaned and put his forehead on James' shoulder. "The kids made maracas this morning and they've been shaking them for over an _hour_ ," he grumbled.

James smiled against Steve's hair. "It could be worse," he said, enjoying the feel of Steve's weight slumped against him.

"How?"

"Skye coulda given them kazoos." James kissed Steve's ear. "Come on, time for dinner."

The meal was delightful, mostly because James didn't have to make it. The kids got their cheese and bean quesadillas, while the grown-ups had leftover chicken and salad. Natasha and Clint described their adventure at a new playground down the river, and then after that Skye had taken them to a real grown-up bookstore, and they had looked at a whole bunch of new books.

Books, everyone agreed, were pretty neat.

After dinner, everyone helped to clear the table, then the children took their maracas out into the backyard to entertain the neighbours. James puttered around the kitchen, returning everything to its correct spot. He was so tired after his long day that it took him a few minutes to realize that something wasn't right with Steve.

"What's up with you?" James asked as he turned the spice jar labels the right way in the cupboard.

"Nothing's up with me."

"You're kinda quiet."

"Like I said, it was a hard day."

James closed the cupboard door. " 'k."

A sigh, then Steve said, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Hey, you don't want to talk about it, I get it," James said as he opened up the next cupboard.

"If you want me to tell you…"

James turned around. "Hey, you and me, this…" he gestured between the two of them. "It don't mean you gotta suddenly spill everything in your head, okay? Same with me. Sometimes I got stuff I don't want to talk about."

Steve looked at him.

"I'll listen if you want to talk," James said, turning back to the cupboard. "But I get when you need to work through stuff on your own." He adjusted the mugs so the handles were all facing out. "Whatever you need."

Steve was silent for a long moment, and James just kept staring at the mugs, not sure if he had said too much, if he was rambling. Then the soft whisper of fabric moving sounded, and Steve was hugging James from behind. "Thanks," Steve murmured, wrapping his arms around James' stomach.

"I mean it," James said, putting his right hand on Steve's arm to anchor him. "You wanna talk, I'll listen. You wanna shut up, I'll shut up too. I mean, I got shit I ain't gonna talk about either, so."

"I love you," Steve muttered in James' ear. "Thank you."

James squeezed Steve's arm. "We cool?"

"Yeah."

They stayed like that for a few minutes in silence, all of James' tension from the day leeching out of his bones. Steve might be going through some shit, but they would make it through together, like they had when they were kids, when they'd had each other and that was all that mattered.

The approaching _ttchka-ttchka-ttchka_ finally made James and Steve pull apart. The children entered the kitchen, shaking their maracas with enthusiasm. "Daddy, my band-aid came off," Clint said, pointing at his knee with his free hand.

"That's too bad," Steve said. "What are we going to do about that?"

"He needs another bandage," Natasha said dramatically, slapping her maraca onto the table. "Otherwise he will bleed all over the place!"

"Tell you what," Steve said. "We'll get you another band-aid for your knee, then we need to get heading for home, all right?"

"Okay," Clint said, letting himself be lifted up to the counter for the bandage application. Natasha stayed close to observe Steve's actions.

Once Clint's knee was bandaged, Steve set him on the ground and told him, "Can you go get your stuff together?"

"Okay!" The children dashed for the living room, leaving Steve to clean up the first-aid detritus.

"Just a normal day for you tomorrow?" James asked as he pulled the family calendar off the fridge.

"Yeah." Steve shoved his handful of garbage into the bin. "You?"

"Physio in the morning," James said. He looked at the calendar. "And I gotta go get Nat's new school uniforms this week. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow after I get home."

Steve exhaled loudly. "Yeah, uniforms."

"You want me to get Clint done at the same time?" James asked. "It's pretty easy, you just go in and tell them what school you're from, and they pull all that shit together."

Steve rubbed his hands over his face. "I guess. Let me, uh, let me give you a check."

"Nah, this place don't take checks. I'll get it, you can pay me back after."

"Sure."

"Daddy!" Clint shouted from the living room. "I'm ready to go!"

Steve pushed off the counter. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yup." James reached out to squeeze Steve's hand. "You guys have a good trip home, okay?"

Steve's smile was strained. "We always do."

It was on the tip of James' tongue to ask what was wrong, but he kept his mouth shut. The kids stormed into the room before he could kiss Steve goodbye, and the next few minutes were crowded with shoelace-tying and backpack checking.

"Okay, bye-bye," Clint finally said, holding out his maraca to Natasha. "You take care of this and we can make music tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow we will make music," Natasha said, taking the shaker. "Goodbye, Clint, you're my friend."

"Good!" And then Clint was heading out of the house, leaving Steve only enough time to flash a quick smile at James before father and son were gone.

After closing the doors, James managed to convince Natasha that maracas needed to be played by two people, and that they should shelve the noisemakers until the next day. Natasha acquiesced grumpily, then demanded to watch _Lilo and Stitch_ again. James countered with the suggestion of a bath and storytime, and the negotiations began.

Natasha's long day meant she was in bed and asleep by eight-thirty, leaving James to get to the mountain of work that had come out of WinterHill's meeting that afternoon. In between the reading and the emails to Maria, James didn't get to bed until midnight. He slept the night through and was pulled awake the next day by his alarm at six. Grumbling, he stumbled downstairs to make coffee, and he was sufficiently revived by the time Natasha marched into the kitchen for breakfast.

Steve and Clint arrived before Skye. James was going to suggest to Steve that they could ride into town on the train together, but Steve was already pulling on his leather jacket and pulling his motorcycle helmet from the closet.

"Got an early morning?" James asked, sitting on the stairs to watch Steve get ready.

"Yeah, lots to do." Steve straightened his jacket collar. "Good luck with the clothes shopping and everything."

"Okay." James watched Steve closely for any sign as to what was wrong with the man, but Steve's face was blank. "See you tonight."

"Yeah." Steve picked up his helmet. "Clint, I'm leaving."

Clint meandered over from where the children had been looking at their library books on the coffee table. "Do you have to?" the boy asked.

"Yeah." Steve knelt down to give Clint a big hug. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Clint nodded, oddly quiet, and then Steve was out the door.

"Hey, Clint, come over here," James said, patting the stair next to him. "Let's have a sit-down."

Clint dragged himself over to the stairs, but instead of sitting beside James, Clint crawled right onto James' knee and hugged him. James hugged Clint back. "What's up?" James asked.

Clint shook his head.

"I want a hugs too!" Natasha exclaimed, abandoning her books to dash over to the others. "Hugs are the best!"

She jumped onto James' other knee. James put his left arm stump out to balance his daughter. "Hugs are the best," James agreed. "Sometimes, if we feel sad, hugs can make us feel better. Clint, are you sad?"

A pause, then a shrug.

"I'm not sad," Natasha said immediately. "I'm happy! Skye will be here, and we will make music, and have lunch!"

"That's right," James said, but Clint still didn't look up. "Clint, did your dad tell you that we are going to go shopping for school uniforms today?"

Clint nodded.

"That should be fun, right?"

"I love school!" Natasha chimed in. "We go to school next week! In one week today!"

"That's right, Nat," James agreed. "And tomorrow, we're going to go meet your teacher for the first time, so you're ready to start on Tuesday. Clint, how does that sound?"

Clint wiped his nose on his hand. "I wanna go play with Floppy," was all he said.

James gave Clint one last squeeze. "Do you want Natasha to play with you?"

"Yeah." Together, the children headed back over to the couch, Natasha chattering away while Clint sulked.

However, the healing powers of both Floppy and the maracas had the boy had cheered up by the time Skye arrived. James warned Skye about the shopping trip, said he would be home to pick them all up by ten-thirty, and then he was off to catch the subway.

Physio was uneventful, and the work hard enough that James could distract himself from worries about Tony Stark somehow taking the prosthetic arm away. Then he hurried to get home, texting his approach; luckily, Skye had the kids waiting on the front step when James turned the corner. He didn't even bother taking his gym bag into the house, just tossed it into the back of the jeep as Skye buckled the kids into their booster seats.

The tailor shop that sold St. Ursula's uniforms was on Flatbush, east of Prospect Park. James miraculously found a parking spot a few blocks away, parked the jeep and ushered everyone along the sidewalk. Clint and Natasha held Skye's hands tight in the unfamiliar neighbourhood as James took point.

Finally, they were there. The store was small, with ceiling-to-floor shelves jammed with cloth bolts and other mysterious tailor things. A young woman behind the counter looked up as the door closed. "Hello," she said as she put her phone into her pocket. "New uniforms?"

"Yup, for St. Ursula's," James replied.

"I'm going into first grade!" Natasha announced, standing on her tip-toes to peer over the counter. "So is Clint, he's my friend!"

"That's cool," the young woman said. "Here, fill these out, my grandmother will be out to do your fitting in a few minutes."

She handed James and Skye each a clipboard, and pointed at the row of folding chairs set up along the far wall. James and Skye corralled the children onto the chairs.

"Daddy, what's that?" Natasha demanded.

"It's a checklist," James said, showing her the paper on the clipboard. "We tick off all the things you need to buy, you get measured, and then they'll put the works together for us."

On the other chair, Skye was looking down the list. "What does Clint get?"

"I dunno, all the boys' clothes stuff," James said. "There's a set list they got from the school."

"I want to write my own name," Natasha said, and pulled the clipboard away from James. "Where does my name go?"

For the next few minutes, Natasha scrawled on the paper while Skye read the entire list out to Clint, who listened with rapt attention. Then a door from the back room creaked open, and a tiny, ancient woman came out, walking slowly with her cane. " _Ah, it's the soldier with one arm who buys my expensive suits,_ " the old woman said in Russian, her voice high and crackling.

"Grandmother!" the young woman gasped, but James was grinning.

" _Mrs. Petreykina, you are very well_ ," James said, knowing his Russian accent was only just passable. Skye stared at him, eyes wide. " _Thank you for seeing us today_."

" _Children getting ready for school, it is big business_ ," Mrs. Petreykina said as she lowered herself onto a stool by the fitting platform. " _You should speak Russian more often, you sound like you are the one who needs to go back to school._ Now," she said, switching to English, "Who do we have here?"

"This is Natasha," James said, pushing his suddenly hesitant daughter forward. "Natasha, do you remember Mrs. Petreykina?"

Natasha stared, then shook her head.

"Last year was a long time ago," Mrs. Petreykina said philosophically. "Up on the step, I need to measure you. You are getting tall."

This put a smile on Natasha's face. "I am taller than I was last year," she said. "I'm almost six!"

"That is a good age to be," agreed Mrs. Petreykina. She looked at the clipboard through her reading glasses. "I'll hem your skirt long, so you can get taller this year too."

Mrs. Petreykina then pulled her measuring tape off from around her neck, and took note of Natasha's measurements. She tsk'd as she wrapped the tape around Natasha's waist.

"You need to eat more, get strong," she said. To James, she added in Russian, " _Your daughter is too skinny, feed her more, make her do more sports! American girls need to grow up strong!_ "

" _Natasha eats healthy_ ," James replied in kind. " _She is in dance class. Maybe I will put her in judo, what do you recommend?_ "

Mrs. Petreykina frowned as she measured down Natasha's spine. " _Lots of sports, and outside air_ ," she said. " _American children do not get enough activity, makes them slow and stupid. But your girl is a good girl, she's smart_."

" _Yes, she is very smart_ ," James said with a smile.

"Hop down," Mrs. Petreykina said to Natasha as she made notes on the clipboard before handing it over to her granddaughter. "I will make the best uniform, just for you."

"Thanks!" Natasha said, jumping off the step and nearly falling over.

"Clint, you're next," Skye said, but Clint didn't move.

"Come on," James said, going over to guide Clint onto the platform. Clint gripped tightly to James' hand.

"What is your name?" Mrs. Petreykina asked, looking at the clipboard.

Clint didn't speak.

"This is Clint," James said, kneeling down to pat the boy reassuringly on the back. "He's going into first grade, and this will be his first year at St. Ursula's."

"I'm six," Clint whispered.

"I can see that." Mrs. Petreykina set down the clipboard. "You are a big and strong boy. Hold out your arms."

James turned Clint around so Mrs. Petreykina would take his measurements, staying close by in case Clint needed any additional reassurance. But Clint gradually loosened up, going as far to ask Mrs. Petreykina why she needed to measure his legs.

"Because little boys grow up, every month," the old woman said. "If I make your trousers too long, you will trip and fall down. If I make them too short, you will grow out of them in a week. I have to hem them, just so." She put down her tape measure. "Off you get."

"Say thanks," James said, helping Clint off the step.

"Thanks you," Clint said, standing on one foot. Mrs. Petreykina unbent enough to smile at the boy.

" _You come back in one hour_ ," Mrs. Petreykina told James. " _Lots of clothes, ready for you!_ "

" _Thank you for your work_ ," James said.

" _Ha! I always do good work._ " Mrs. Petreykina laughed. " _Come back when you need new suits. Handsome young men always have to be fashionable._ "

James bowed his head, making Mrs. Petreykina laugh at him again, then he and Skye ushered the children out of the shop onto the street.

"Whew," James breathed. "Okay, who wants lunch?"

"Me!" Natasha exclaimed, holding onto Skye's hand and jumping up and down.

"Me too," Clint said, reaching for James' hand.

"Sounds good," Skye said.

They walked a few blocks over to a sushi restaurant. Once they were seated, and the children set up with crayons and colouring sheets, Skye fixed James with a glare. "You speak Russian."

"Hey, I got lots of hidden skills," James protested.

"Yeah, me too, but I don't just speak Russian out of nowhere."

"It's not outta nowhere," James said. He peeled the paper wrapper off his chopsticks. "My dad hired a lot of Russian immigrants for the work sites when I was a kid. I learned Russian mostly so's I could know what they were saying about the bosses behind their backs." He snapped the chopsticks apart. "Then when I'd been enlisted for a while, I got to thinking what I'd do after my tour, and some of the guys said you could make a good career with languages, so I started working on Russian again, see if I could get certified."

"You learn anything other than Russian over the years?" Skye asked.

"I was in Afghanistan and Iraq for a while, picked up Arabic and Dari. Spanish, learned that here in school and stuff."

"Jesus," Skye muttered. "You work for someone, you think you know them, and they turn out to be some polyglot."

James made a face. "Hey, I work hard to look this dumb," he said, and he wasn't entirely joking. " 'Lot of these guys I work for, they don't really want someone who's too smart putting in their security system."

"Maria's smart," Skye countered, and this drew Natasha's attention.

"Maria is the most smart lady I know!" Natasha exclaimed. "I'm going to be like Maria when I grow up!"

"Good," James said, and Natasha went back to her drawing. "Maria's the FBI wunderkind, I'm the on-the-ground grunt, that's how people want to see us."

Skye was frowning at him. "So you speak four languages—"

"Five," James interrupted. Skye raised her eyebrows. "You forgot English."

Skye sighed. "Natasha, did you know that your dad is a smarty-pants?"

"Yes," Natasha replied. "My daddy is really smart." She sat back and considered her artwork. "But he's not as smart as me."

"She's got me there," James said with a grin.

Skye rolled her eyes.

The waitress came and they ordered, James ordering an avocado roll each for the children and a plate of noodles for them to share. He got a bento box, while Skye stuck to soup and some sashimi.

Once the food arrived, there was much to do with the putting away of colouring sheets and crayons, then Skye had to be instructed in the art of making cheater chopsticks for the children.

Finally, James could eat. He chewed slowly, watching the children interact with Skye, and was glad to see that Clint was acting like his normal bubbly self again.

But something about his conversation with Skye was bothering him. He knew he'd been successful at pretending he was less intelligent than he was on the job, but Skye's blatant surprise that he could speak more than American English wasn't sitting right.

James could see where she was coming from – from a certain standpoint, James' back-story was one of intellectual mediocrity – enlisting in the Army instead of going to college, not bothering with school once he was home from being blown up, then going into private security instead of some more intellectual field of work.

Only that was mostly bullshit – James had known plenty of really intelligent men and women in the military, who had signed up because they'd never be able to pay for college otherwise. True, he'd known a lot of duds too, but he'd found that everywhere in his life, not just the Army.

In the Rangers, in the early years, most of the focus had been on physical strength and stamina, but as James had grown up, he'd been looking into other areas to get into after the war… if there ever was an end to the war. He'd fastened onto military intelligence and linguistics, and had been working to get his languages up to a level of proficiency when the IED on that Iraq road ended his military career.

It was weird to be thinking about that path not travelled, nearly six years later, sitting at a Japanese restaurant in the middle of Brooklyn, with his daughter and Steve's son.

"James?"

James blinked. "Yes, Clint?"

Clint held up his watch. "Time is going," he said solemnly. "Will the lady be mad we're not there?"

"No, we can get there when we get there." James looked at the children's plates. "Are you done eating?"

It took a while to leave; getting the left-overs boxed up and paying the bill, then taking a bathroom break. Soon, however, they were back on the sweltering Brooklyn sidewalk, heading in the direction of the clothing shop.

Mrs. Petreykina was nowhere to be seen, but the young woman smiled at James as she presented two tall stacks of folded clothing. "All ready," she said. "Do you want to try everything on?"

"Nah, we'll do that at home," James said, keeping an eye on Natasha's expression. It might be a good time for a nap when everyone got home. "On separate bills, but I'll pay for both."

Natasha went with Skye to look at the rows of embroidery thread by the door, but Clint stood beside James, his eyes on the young woman as she added up all the figures. James handed over his credit card when she showed him the final invoice; the bill was high, but it was clothing Natasha would grow into over the year, and Mrs. Petreykina always hemmed up the extra length so the trousers and skirts could be let out over a couple of years.

The bill settled, the clothes were bagged and handed over, and off they went with a final chorus of thanks from the children. They got to the jeep in a few minutes, the bags went into the back, and soon everyone was buckled in for the drive home.

The hot day and the activity, combined with a big lunch, made it a little easier than usual to get the children to take a nap. Once they were in their beds, Skye and James went down to the kitchen. Skye went to get a glass of water while James started sorting through the school clothes.

"I'm going to miss these kids," Skye said after a while.

"They're going to miss you."

"I can't believe school starts next week." Skye sighed. "I meant what I said, too, about if you need a babysitter at all during the year. If you have, like, plans."

James eyed her. "Plans."

"You know." Skye's eyes were sparkling. "Like a date or anything."

James wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, so he just shrugged. "I maybe got some things I gotta do this fall, if you could come over to babysit, that would be great."

Skye smiled at him. "Think I should make some lemonade for the kids when they wake up?"

"They'd like that," James said, relieved that Skye had let the whole dating thing drop. Did she know that he and Steve were dating? Had something he'd said given it away? James knew that Skye wouldn't really care, but it made him slightly uneasy to think he could be read so easily.

Natasha drifted downstairs half an hour later, grumpy after her nap. She whined continuously as James made her try on her new uniform, which fit as perfectly as James expected. Her polo shirts were just a fraction on the large side, but at the rate she was growing, she'd be able to wear them for most of the school year.

Natasha cheered up when she tried on her blazer, in St. Ursula's dark green. The cuffs came just below her wrists, and when James checked the inside, he saw that there was an extra turn hemmed up on the cuff for extra growing.

"Mrs. Petreykina, I love you," James muttered under his breath.

"Why?" Natasha asked, shedding the jacket.

"Because she makes the sleeves extra long so you can grow an extra lot." James tapped Natasha's nose. "Mrs. Petreykina is the reason you're going to St. Ursula's, did you know that?"

"Why?" Natasha asked again, trying to fold her skirt back into its original folds.

"Because when I had to get a suit for work tailored for my arm and you had to come with me, Mrs. Petreykina told me that you looked like a smart little baby and that if I was going to pay so much for a suit, I could afford to put you in the best school. And that was St. Ursula's."

"I didn't know she knew me when I was a baby," Natasha breathed. "How come I didn't know that?"

"Because you were a very little baby," James said. It had been back when Natasha still used her stroller, and to James' completely relief, she tended to sleep through James' long fittings in the shop. "And then last year, we only stopped in to say hi and get your clothes, because all the kindergarten stuff was off the rack."

"Next year, I will remember her!" Natasha said fiercely. "Now I'm thirsty."

"Go see Skye, she has something for you." James watched Natasha scamper across the kitchen to Skye's side, then folded the clothing. He would put Natasha's stuff in the wash that evening, so it would be ready for back to school. As for Clint's stuff… well, he'd leave that up to Steve.

Clint appeared twenty minutes later, dragging his feet and still half asleep. He ignored James and went right over to Skye, leaning against her leg.

"Hey, you want some lemonade?" Skye asked. Clint nodded, holding up his arms. Skye heaved him up onto the counter beside Natasha, and poured him a little glass of lemonade over ice.

"Daddy, this is _soooo_ good!" Natasha said, licking her lips. "Skye makes the best lemonade. Ever!"

"We're lucky to have Skye," James agreed. "What do you think, Clint?"

Clint shrugged, staring down into his lemonade glass.

"Do you want to try on your clothes after you're done?" Skye asked. Clint shook his head. "You feeling okay?"

Another shrug.

Skye put her hand on Clint's forehead. "How about after this, we go upstairs and have a dance contest?"

"I love dance contest!" Natasha squealed, nearly upending her lemonade all over the floor.

"Okay," Clint said gloomily, then downed the rest of his drink.

As Skye was helping the children to the ground, James said, "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

"Thanks," Skye said, putting a hand on Clint's back as the boy sagged along after Natasha. "I'll let you know how it goes."

James spent ten minutes cleaning up the lemonade detritus, then went into his office. He was neck deep in some figures for the Hardison Group project when a frantic, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" interrupted his concentration.

He only had time to push back from his desk when Natasha burst into the office, breathing hard. "What's wrong?" James demanded, automatically reaching out to feel his daughter's head and neck, to check for blood or injury.

"Clint's really sad!" Natasha burst out. "He's crying and sad and Skye sent me to get you!"

James let out a breath, the adrenaline singing in his blood. Crying and sadness, he could deal with. "All right, let's go."

He held out his arms for Natasha, who dove at him. He stood, holding Natasha securely against him with his right arm, and hurried out of his office. Pausing long enough to grab Floppy off the couch, James bounded up the stairs, Natasha clinging tight to his neck.

On the third-floor landing, James stopped, letting Natasha down. She took his hand and hauled him toward the playroom. Inside, Clint was kneeling by the wall, staring down at a toy car. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as his breath caught in hitched sobs.

At Clint's side, Skye looked around as James came into the room. "We were getting ready to dance when he just started crying," she said. "He won't tell me why he's sad."

Natasha made a beeline for Skye, leaving James to crouch down at Clint's side. "Hey there, buddy," James said gently. He held out Floppy. "You want this?"

Clint looked up, breath still hitching. He reached out for Floppy, then threw the stuffed dog across the room with all his might.

Natasha gasped, wrapping her arms around Skye's neck, as Clint's face crumpled. The boy pulled off his glasses and put his hands over his eyes as he let out a wail.

James went to retrieve Floppy to give this another try. "Here we go," James said. He put Floppy on Clint's knee. "You know what the good thing about stuffed animals is?" He wiggled Floppy's head. "They always land soft, so they never get hurt."

Clint grabbed Floppy and clutched the toy to his chest, sobbing against Floppy's fuzzy head as if the world was ending. James sat down and pulled Clint onto his lap, hugging Clint as the boy cried himself out.

As Clint's tears tapered off, Natasha detached herself from Skye and ran out of the room. Skye use the opportunity to shift closer to pat Clint on the back.

Natasha returned at a run, holding a dripping-wet facecloth. She nearly tripped as she shoved it toward Clint. "Here, feel better," she demanded.

"Thanks, Natasha," James said, intercepting the facecloth. "Clint, do you want to wipe your face?"

Clint sniffled loudly, then said, "Yes!"

James ended up with a wet shirt as the facecloth dripped all over him, but at least Clint was calming down. Skye handed over the tissue box, and Clint blew his nose four times before he settled back against James' chest, still sniffling as James handed back his glasses.

Skye took a theatrically deep breath. "This sure has been a day with ups and downs," she said. "Clint, why are you so sad?"

Clint wiped his nose on Floppy's head. "I have to go to school!" he burst out. "And Skye won't be my tutor any more!"

"Are you going to miss Skye?" James asked.

"Yes!" Clint looked up, tears filling his eyes again. "I won't see Skye any more! And I'll have a new teacher and she's gonna think I'm dumb! And if the teacher thinks I'm dumb I won't make any friends! And Daddy said because of my school we don't have any more money and I have to get a job and I don't know _how_ to do a work!"

James sat, struck speechless by this emotional outburst. Skye's eyes were wide in surprise. Thankfully, Natasha knew what to do.

"I'm always gonna be your friend," she said, crawling over to hug Clint. "And I'll get a job too so we can both do a job together!"

"Okay!" Clint said, putting his arm around Natasha's neck. "Natasha, you're my best friend always."

James opened his mouth to rebut some of Clint's claims, but Skye touched him on the knee and shook her head. "Clint," Skye said, "That's sure a lot of things to be worried about. Can we talk about them?"

Clint nodded, letting go of Natasha. She settled on James' other knee, cutting off the circulation to his foot.

"First off, you're still going to see me," Skye said. "Not every day, but I'm going to come over and babysit you two sometimes."

"You will?" Clint asked, astonished.

"Yes, I will," Skye said, smiling as Natasha clapped her hands together. "And even when I don't see you, I'm going to remember you."

"I'll always remember you," Clint said loyally.

"Me too!" Natasha said. "All of the times until I am dead."

"We always remember the people we care about," James put in. "And that's good."

"It is," Skye agreed. "Now, do you remember the day that you first met me? And you were so worried that I'd think you were dumb?"

Clint nodded.

"And I didn't, remember?"

"Because I'm not dumb," Clint said. "I'm a smart boy."

"You are." Skye reached out her hands to the children. "Both of you, you're smart and you're funny and you're brave and imaginative and creative and all the best things. No matter what anyone ever says to you, remember that."

"Clint is the best!" Natasha burst out. She shook Skye's hand back and forth. "He's the best friend _ever_!"

"I want to be smart," Clint said solemnly. "And all those other things too."

"You are," James said, bouncing Clint a little. Clint sniffled out a smile. "You both are, and we all think so."

"Who does?" Natasha asked, twisting to look at her father. "Who thinks I'm smart?"

"Well," James said, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I do. Skye does. And Steve too."

"Who else?"

"Maria does," James said, thinking of the adults that both children knew. "And Abraham. And Lucy. Do you remember Lucy?"

The glare Natasha shot at James was withering. " _Daddy_ ," she huffed. "We said goodbye to Lucy _two weeks ago_." Clint giggled at James' expression.

"You're right," James said. "Silly me."

Skye held out another tissue to Clint. "Clint, you remember what your mom said?"

"Yeah," Clint said immediately. "She said I'm smart! She said that I'm _very_ smart and _very_ brave and _very_ wonderful!"

"And you are," Skye said. "You both are."

Natasha frowned, as she usually did when Clint's mother was brought up, so James jumped in with, "And when you guys go to school, you'll meet new friends, and it's going to be great."

"But what if the teacher thinks I'm dumb?" Clint pressed.

"The teacher won't think you're dumb," Skye said. "But if she does? Then I'll come to your school and I'll find this teacher and I'll set her straight."

"Ka-pow!" Natasha exclaimed, miming an uppercut.

"No hitting," James said quickly. "Skye would never hit anyone, she meant she'd talk to the teacher and tell her that Clint's smart and brave and super cool."

Natasha slumped back against James' chest with a disappointed sigh.

"But I still have to get a job," Clint said, his expression turning despondent. "Daddy said so."

Skye and James exchanged a look. "Clint, your dad was joking," James said, because whatever Steve had actually said, he could not have meant that Clint needed to head off to work. "Sometimes, when grown ups are worried about stuff, they say things that they don't mean."

Clint looked at James, eyes hopeful. "I don't have to get a job?"

"Absolutely not." James kissed the top of Clint's head. "The only thing that you two need to do this year is to be kids, and go to school, and make friends, and be the best that you can be."

Clint turned to give James a hug, while Natasha patted James' shoulder. "That's good, Daddy," she said in all seriousness. "I know how to do those things."

"Me too." Clint climbed off James' lap to go drape himself over Skye's shoulders. "I know how to be a kid."

"Good," Skye said. "Now, how would you feel about having that dance contest?"

"Dance contest!" Natasha yelled, springing off James' lap and into the air. "It's time for dance contest!"

"Okay," Clint said. "Can I go pee?"

"Of course," Skye told him. As Clint left the room, Natasha ran over to the stereo. As soon as Natasha was out of easy hearing range, Skye groaned. "I wasn't expecting that today."

"I'll take care of Steve," James said as he climbed to his feet. "I'm sure he meant something else."

"Probably." Skye took James' offered hand to stand. "Sure you don't want to stay for a dance-off?"

James rolled his eyes as the Beatles' _Love Me Do_ started to play. "Maybe for one song."

"Daddy!" Natasha screeched as she shook her behind. "Look at me!"

"I'm looking," James said, doing his best white-man bobble across the floor. "Hey look, here's Clint."

Clint ran back into the room. "Dance contest!" he shouted, and struck his best disco pose.

James pretended he didn't see Skye taking pictures of this dance debacle.

The things he did for these kids.

* * *

Half an hour after Skye left for the day, James was in the kitchen, trying to figure out what to have for dinner, when he heard the front door open. James glanced out the window to the backyard to make sure the children were occupied before he headed to the living room.

Steve was putting his helmet into the closet, his shoulders hunched, and every movement exuded exhaustion.

"Hey," James said. Steve looked around, giving a half-smile. "The kids are out back."

"Good." Steve shrugged out of his leather jacket. "How was your day?"

"Busy." James leaned against the couch. "Physio. Clothes shopping."

"Yeah," Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that James hadn't seen much in the last week. "How did that go?"

"Fine. Got the kids all outfitted, but I'm not sure about Clint's shoes," James said. "I need to go grab some new dress shoes for Nat. Her gym shoes will be fine for another few months, I hope."

"Shoes," Steve repeated. "Yeah. Shoes."

"You all right?" James asked.

Steve forced a smile onto his face. "Never better."

"What's up with you?"

"Doesn't matter," Steve muttered. "What do I owe you?"

Reluctantly, James returned to the kitchen, Steve on his heels. "The bill's in the bag," James said, pointing at the large bag that held Clint's uniforms. "We had a long afternoon so I didn't get a chance to have Clint try any of it on, but we can do that now. If you leave it overnight I can wash the washables for you, the kids don't have to wear their uniforms for the meet-the-teacher tomorrow afternoon."

He paused by the back window to look out again. The children were seated underneath the oak tree, playing contentedly with rocks. Satisfied that they wouldn't be interrupted any time soon, James turned around, starting to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Steve was standing over the clothing bag, staring down at the invoice in his hand. He had gone milk-white.

"Steve?" James said, nearly bounding across the kitchen. "You okay?"

Steve looked up, blinking. "Yeah," he said as he crumpled the invoice in his hand. "Just, uh, bit more than I was expecting."

"Steve—"

"It's fine," Steve said quickly. "I'll get a check for you, I've got a check…" He reached into his left pocket, but not fast enough that James didn't see that his hand was shaking.

"Clint overheard you talking about money last night," James said, wrapping his fingers around the back of a chair. "Saying something about how he needed to get himself a job."

"What?" Steve tossed the invoice onto the table. "I was talking to Abraham, I didn't know he heard that, I just turned around and thought he'd just gotten out of bed. _Shit!_ "

"I told Clint that you were joking," James said, edging closer to Steve. "He bought that, he's fine now." Carefully, James put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "What's going on?"

Steve rubbed his eyes. "It's nothing, I have it under control."

"Steve."

Steve exhaled. "Got my credit card bill yesterday," he said. "And I gotta pay for Clint's archery lessons and swim classes up front, and rent and electricity and I need to find the money to pay Skye for the end of the month and everything for Clint's school and I didn't realize the uniform was going to cost so _much_ —"

"You can pay me back whenever," James interrupted. "It's fine"

This made Steve pull away from James. "I can pay my own way," he objected, shoulders up as if for a fight. "Clint's my son, it was my decision to put him into this school, I can handle it." He sagged a little. "I'll find a way to pay for it."

"Yeah." James went over to sort through the bag of clothing. "I know you will."

"I just…" Steve slumped into a seat at the table and put his head into his hands. "I thought I had this all under control."

"How bad are things?" James asked, not looking at Steve.

"Depends, you think I need to pay rent next month?"

James ran his thumb over the St. Ursula's crest on Clint's blazer. "Is it that bad?"

Steve groaned. "No," he muttered. "We'll be fine. I've got… I have some Stark Industries stock I was saving for Clint to go to college, but I can sell that, the market price isn't too bad."

"No, you're not," James said sharply. He swung around to glare at Steve. "Jesus Christ, I'll loan you the money, you can pay me back whenever—"

"I'm not borrowing any money from you!" Steve exclaimed. "I don't need any fucking charity—"

"It ain't fucking charity," James shot back. "If I hold onto the bill for Clint's uniform stuff, and if I pay for both of us for Skye's last check plus that bonus we talked about, will that help?"

Steve stood up, jaw clenched. "I didn't get into a relationship with you because of your money," he snapped.

"Oh my _god_ ," James said to the ceiling. "Did I say that? When did I say that?" He tossed Clint's blazer over the back of a chair. "All's I asked was if I covered the uniforms and the nanny bill for like a fucking month, would that help you not get fucking evicted?"

"Yes," Steve ground out. "But…"

"Is there anything else you can do without burning Clint's college money?"

Steve walked over to the sink. "I can't ask Abraham," he said, voice quieting. "He'd say yes, and he doesn't have money to spare. I can't ask him."

"Okay."

"I can't ask Tony," Steve went on, getting himself a glass of water. "A lot of folks who pretended to be Tony's friends over the years, it was because of his money. And that's not…" He sighed, drank deeply from his glass. "I'm pretty sure that Tony has this thing in the back of his head that eventually, everyone only wants him for his money. And that's not me." He set the glass down. "That is _never_ going to be me."

James pressed his metal fingers against his thigh. It was so much easier to think of Tony Stark as some sort of unfeeling billionaire, than as a real person… than as Steve's good friend. "So you can't ask your dad, you ain't gonna ask Tony, and there are child labour laws that mean Clint can't pitch in until he's at least fourteen," he said.

"Yeah." Steve set his glass in the sink. "I mean, I could get a second job."

James rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly what you need to do," he said sarcastically. "Work two jobs, killing yourself, and never see your kid."

"Don't say it like that," Steve said. "A lot of people do that."

"I know." James reached into the uniform bag to pull out the little trousers. "Will you at least think about what I said?"

"Fine."

"Good." James went over to open the back door. "Hey, kids, Steve's home!"

The dual screams of _Steve!_ and _Daddy!_ preceded the children into the house. Clint ran over to his father, arms outstretched. "Daddy, you're here!" he exclaimed joyously.

"I sure am," Steve said as he picked Clint up. "How you doing, buddy?"

"Good!" Clint said.

"I'm _hungry_ ," Natasha said, tugging at Steve's sleeve. "Can I have a quesadilla?"

"Dinner's going to be in an hour," James said. "Clint, why don't you show your dad your new clothes?"

"Yeah!" Clint kicked until Steve put him down. "There was an old lady, she was so _old_ , and she made me stand still and put a string around me and now I have new clothes!"

He ran over to the table, Steve behind him.

Natasha looked up at James. "Daddy, do I have to put on my uniform again?" she asked, her nose wrinkled up in irritation.

"Not if you don't want to."

"I don't want to." Natasha went over to the table to add her commentary to Clint's fashion show, so James set about getting dinner ready.

Truth be told, James was worried about Steve. They hadn't talked much about money, but James had always thought that Steve had things together. But today, hearing Steve's worries about money made James wonder if there was anything else he could do.

He understood that Steve didn't want to borrow money; if their situations had been reversed, James was pretty sure he'd sooner sell a kidney than ask Steve for a loan. But… He shook his head at the head of lettuce. He'd worked hard, had saved up lots of money. An extra thousand dollars wasn't anything to him, where for Steve it could mean the difference between having a place to live, or getting evicted.

Anyway, James thought to himself as he dug in the fridge for mushrooms, even if Steve did lose his place, he and Clint could always move in with James and Natasha, they had lots of space—

James' mental train of thought stopped with a crash. Steve and Clint… move in? Not like roommates, but… living together? Like boyfriends? Like… a family?

James stared unseeing into the fridge. His heart was pounding in his chest. He and Steve had only been dating for a week, but James couldn't imagine his life without Steve any more. The idea of Steve and Clint living with James and Natasha was so big, so momentous… James' brain couldn't even wrap itself around the concept.

"Daddy."

James nearly jumped out of his skin. Natasha was standing beside him, frowning.

"Close the door, you're letting all the cold escape."

James let out a breath. "Sure, sweet pea." He grabbed the mushrooms before kicking the door closed. "Are you done helping Clint try on his clothes?"

"Yeah, he's putting on his pants." Natasha followed James to the counter. "Pants are boring."

"Sure are." James set the mushrooms down. "How about you go get the step-stool and give me a hand?"

"Okay."

Across the kitchen, Steve was taking pictures of Clint, all decked out in his new uniform. "You send that to Mommy?" Clint asked anxiously when Steve was done. "You won't forget?"

"I will send the picture to Mommy and to Grandpa Abraham," Steve promised. "You look so grown up, Clint."

Clint shrugged. "I'm six years old now," he informed his father. "That's a big boy age."

"It sure is." Steve ruffled Clint's hair. "Now, you get out of those and back into your regular clothes, and we'll help James and Natasha with dinner, okay?"

"Are we staying for dinner?" Clint asked, immediately shucking off his trousers. He ran over to the counter wearing only his blazer and his underoos, but James pointed the boy back to his father.

"You can always stay for dinner," James said, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling at Steve. "Any time you want."

"Good!" Clint exclaimed, pulling off his blazer and t-shirt at the same time. "Whoops."

Steve had to take a minute to help Clint get dressed, then the Rogers boys joined James and Natasha at the counter. "What's for supper?" Steve asked, going around to stand beside James while Clint joined Natasha on the step-stool.

"Salad and pasta with mushrooms and chicken," James said. His breath caught when Steve put his hand on James' back, unseen by the children. "Shouldn't be too hard if the kids help with the salad and washing the mushrooms."

"Good," Steve said. His hand slid around James' back to rest on his hip. "You know, I wanted to ask you about something."

"What's that?" James asked, watching the children as they reached for the salad things.

"What would you think about me and Clint staying over tonight?"

"I, uh…" James had to clear his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good." Steve pressed his fingers gently against James' hip. "I have to go get some stuff from home, though."

"Sure." James turned towards Steve. "Why don't you take the jeep?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we're good here. Give you a chance for some air."

Steve quirked the corner of his mouth. "Hey, I'm the one who just drove from Manhattan to Brooklyn."

"Freaking out about stuff doesn't make for a relaxing drive," James pointed out. "Go. Give Abraham a call or something, talk about this weekend."

"What's this weekend?" Natasha interjected.

James turned around. "Grandpa Abraham is coming out to see Steve and Clint this weekend."

"He's coming to see all of us," Steve said. He smiled when Clint waved a carrot triumphantly in the air. "And we'll have a nice weekend and then it's back to school on Tuesday."

Clint made a face.

"I like school," Natasha said. "I can't wait to meet my teacher tomorrow! I hope she's nice."

"She probably is," James replied. To Steve, he said, "You'd better get while the getting's good."

"Okay. Call me if you need me to pick anything up."

"Nope, all we need is you."

Steve smiled sappily at James, then headed out of the kitchen.

James, who had been admiring the view of Steve's retreating backside, jumped when Natasha smacked him with a celery stalk. "Nat, please don't hit me."

"Sorry," Natasha said, sounding anything but. "Can I use the slicer?"

"Let's get the food processor," James suggested. "Then you can both slice up the salad vegetables, how does that sound?"

Twin cheers filled the kitchen.

* * *

With the excitement of the next day's meet-the-teacher event, the children didn't get to bed until after nine. Then Steve had to do the ironing for the next day, so James went down to the basement laundry room to keep him company.

They talked about Abraham's visit, and upcoming events at Steve's job, and James spent a while describing his meeting the previous day with the Kestrel Foundation. They pointedly did not discuss money or James' financial offer from the afternoon.

Once the dryer was done, Steve and James hung up Clint and Natasha's uniform things so they wouldn't wrinkle, then headed upstairs. Steve went up for a shower while James locked up the house for the night.

When that chore was complete, James walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. Steve was sitting up in bed, reading a book by the light of the bedside lamp. He glanced up when James came through the door. "All good?"

"Yeah," James said. He undid the top buttons on his shirt. "I could use a shower after today."

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve said.

"Good." James pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the hamper. "So, you want to meet up for lunch before we go to the school tomorrow?"

"I might have to meet you at the school," Steve said. "I got a work meeting that might go a little late."

"Okay, we'll have lunch here." James undid the last strap and eased the prosthetic arm off his stump. "Maybe we'll eat in painting smocks so the kids won't get goo on their nice clothes."

"Dinner was great tonight," Steve said out of nowhere. James looked at him. "What you can cook, it's just so good."

James ducked his head, feeling a little uncomfortable at the praise. "It wasn't all that much," he said. "The kids did the salad, and the rest was just mushrooms and garlic and chicken in a frying pan. Easy."

"Yeah, well, easy or not, it was great." Steve got off the bed and came over to James. In his underwear, skin warm and still a little pink from the shower, Steve was absolute perfection. "Thanks."

James reached up to put his arm over Steve's shoulders. Hugging Steve Rogers might one day lose its charm, but today was not that day. "Everything's better when you're here," James said.

Steve responded by kissing James' temple. "Same."

James ruffled Steve's hair. "Give me a bit, I gotta take a shower," James said. Steve sighed. "Hey, patience, all right?"

"Fine," Steve muttered. He stepped back. "It's a good idea, too, you do kinda stink." He blocked the half-hearted punch James threw his way. "Yeah, yeah."

"You're a punk," James informed him. "Go to bed, I'll be back in a few."

The shower did not take long; James was adept at quick showers after so long in the military. He soaped up, rinsed off, then dried off and quickly brushed his teeth, mindful of his toothbrush. Then he wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his discarded trousers, and headed back into the hall. He chanced a quick peek into the kids' bedrooms, but both were sleeping soundly.

Smiling, James went to his room. After tossing his trousers into the hamper, James closed the door behind him, and after a moment's hesitation, turned the lock. He wasn't sure what the night might bring, but he certainly didn't want the children to wander in if he and Steve were…. occupied.

Steve was under the covers now, watching James. "You gonna get over here any time soon?" Steve asked.

"I'm thinking about it," James retorted. He pulled the damp towel from around his hips. "You thinkin' I need to get some pajamas?"

Steve bit his lip. "I, uh, I ain't gonna object if you don't."

"Well, then." James dropped the towel beside the bed. "Move over, you're in my spot."

"And what are you going to do about that, huh?"

James responded by pushing the sheet off Steve, then lying down directly on top of him. The man's body was firm and warm, and James took a moment to wriggle around as if getting comfortable. Steve groaned, grinding his hips up against James'.

"Yeah, that's better," James murmured, smiling at Steve's stupefied expression. "You think we can get some sleep now?"

Steve looked at James with dark eyes, then lifted his head for a kiss.

On consideration, James thought that kissing Steve in bed, with only Steve's underwear between them, was probably near the best thing in the world. Maybe only a night-time parachute jump could come close in terms of excitement.

"Hey," Steve said, kissing a line down James' neck. "Can I get out of this underwear?"

"Sure." James sat up abruptly, hooking his fingers in Steve's waistband. "C'mon, I ain't got all day."

Steve laughed as they worked the boxer-briefs down his legs. James then ran his hand up Steve's thigh, enjoying the way Steve's breath caught in his throat.

"This is awesome," James said, wrapping his hand around Steve's dick and giving an experimental stroke. Steve threw his head back into the pillow. "Yeah, that works for you?"

"Fuck, Bucky," Steve moaned. "Yeah, that fucking works."

"Good." James gave a few more strokes, then bent over to kiss Steve. Steve's response was enthusiastic and sloppy and _perfect_ ; James didn't even mind that Steve pulled him down into a full-body embrace.

"How about this?" Steve gasped, shifting his hips so his dick rubbed along James'. James gasped, all the nerves in his body sparking at once.

"Fuck, yeah," James managed, then Steve was kissing him again. They moved together in the quiet room, breathing hard. James nearly choked when Steve wrapped his hand around their dicks, adding more pressure and friction. "Fuck, I'm gonna, I'm—"

The orgasm hit him, making him jerk up into Steve's grasp. Steve kissed James hard, his hand moving on his own dick, and he came a few seconds later.

James collapsed on top of Steve. He was breathing so hard that he was almost gasping. "Fucking shit, that was good."

"It was," Steve mumbled, his arm over James' back. "You know what?"

"What?" James panted.

"I really like your dick."

James laughed. "My dick really likes you, so we're even."

They lay like that for a little while, until James had enough energy to roll off to the side. "Ugh," Steve said, looking at the mess on his stomach. "You going to yell at me if I clean this up with your sheets?"

"Your problem is that you don't think ahead," James said, reaching down. He grabbed the damp towel and used it to wipe the worst of the mess off his own stomach. "Here."

Steve cleaned up, then dropped the towel to the ground. "Tired," he muttered, rolling onto his side.

"So go to sleep," James said, kissing Steve's shoulder before turning off the lamp. "When are you getting up tomorrow?"

"Six," Steve said. "Maybe I'll go into work early since I gotta leave early."

"Okay." James pulled the sheet up over them. "I'm here all day."

"Good."

James curled up against Steve's back, putting his arm over Steve's chest. "This is good."

"Yeah." Steve brought James' hand up to kiss his fingers. "I like it when you're the big spoon."

James smiled against Steve's back. "Why do people say that? Spoons fit together better when they're the same size."

"Bucky?"

"Yeah, Steve?"

"Shut up."

"Yeah, yeah."

Steve breathed out a laugh. "Love you."

James blinked in the darkness. "Love you too," he said, and Steve kissed his fingers again.

James closed his eyes, wishing that every moment could be as perfect as this one.

* * *

Wednesday morning was a blur of activity. Steve got off to work before the kids woke, then it was breakfast time for two starving and nervous children. Thankfully, Skye arrived before James' head exploded.

The kids settled down to a morning of running around in the backyard sprinkler, while James worked. Maria came by around ten, sending Natasha into paroxysms of delight before James shooed the girl back into the kitchen for a snack.

By eleven, Maria and James had sorted through the problems they were having with the Hardison project, at least enough to shelve the conversation until the following week. After Maria left, James went into the kitchen to get lunch started.

Skye wrestled the children back into the house for lunch by eleven-thirty, then James took the children upstairs to wash their muddy feet and to get them ready to meet their teacher.

While Skye blow-dried and styled Natasha's hair, James explained to Clint that no, he wasn't expected to wear his school uniform to meet the teacher, they were going to save that for the first day of school, and wouldn't it be better for Clint to wear the nice shirt and trousers that his dad had ironed the previous night?

After five minutes of this, Clint melted down, still convinced that he had to wear his school uniform. James took him downstairs for a cold glass of water and to curl up on the couch with Floppy. Thankfully, Clint was soon feeling better, and he got dressed with no further complaint.

"Can I wear my tie?" Clint asked as Skye buttoned his sleeve cuffs. Behind him, Natasha was admiring her freshly ironed sundress in the mirror. "My purple party tie?"

"I think your dad left that at home," James said, turning Natasha around. "Nat, sweet pea, please put on your sweater."

"It's too hot for a sweater," Natasha said, making a face.

"It's going to be cool in the school."

"So you carry it until I get cold."

"Skye," Clint said anxiously, "Can you do my hair? Can you do my hair like James' hair?"

"Sure," Skye said. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, Skye and Clint walked down the hall to the bathroom. James reached out to catch Natasha's arm. "Nat, come here."

Natasha went over to James, but refused to let him hug her. "You will ruin my dress," she said, mouth pursed. "My dress is perfect and my hair is perfect. I want the teacher to see I'm pretty."

"The teacher don't care if you're pretty," James said. "All they care about is if you're a nice kid."

Natasha glared. "If you go to school and you look bad, everyone thinks you're bad," she told her father.

"Oh yeah? Was Mrs. Singh like that?" James asked.

Natasha's glare deflated. "No, she was a nice teacher," Natasha admitted. "Once a time, Ricky came off the playground and he was all dirty and gross and all Mrs. Singh did was tell him to wipe off his face."

"See?" James touched the tip of Natasha's nose. "Your teacher will know you're a neat kid, no matter what you're wearing."

"So why do we have to wear uniforms?" Natasha demanded, and James, unable to answer that one, distracted Natasha into a discussion about her barrettes.

James piled everyone into the jeep, made a detour to drop Skye at the Atlantic Avenue station, then drove to St. Ursula's. He parked, got the kids out of their booster seats, and led the by the hand up the street and into the school with minutes to spare.

The front hall was bustling with activity. A table had been set up by the administration office, and two teenagers were handing out papers to parents, while more teenagers were guiding families down the halls.

"Whoa," Clint said. "There are _big kids_ here."

"Yeah, the school has kids all the way up to high school," James said, distracted as he looked around for Steve.

"Where's my teacher?" Natasha demanded, pulling James towards the table. "Hi, I'm Natasha, who's my teacher?"

The teenager behind the table looked at James. "What grade?"

"First grade," James said, pushing Natasha and Clint together in front of him so he didn't lose anyone. "Barnes, Natasha, and Rogers, Clint."

The girl rummaged through a stack of papers. "There's a Mr. Rogers talking to Ms. Green, is that your dad?" she asked Clint.

"Yeah," Clint said, nearly running off before James could grab his arm. "I want to find my dad!"

"Clint, I need you to wait with me," James said, taking the papers from the girl. "Thanks. Kids, say thanks."

"Thanks," Natasha said, peering over the table. "Who are you?"

"I'm Gamora," the girl said. "I'm in the eleventh grade."

Natasha grinned. "I'm in first grade!"

Gamora grinned back. "That's cool. Peter's going to show you to your classroom." She leaned back and beckoned with teenage irritation at a boy coming down the hall. "Peter, first graders."

"That's cool," the boy said, his sandy hair falling into his eyes. His headphones were dangling from his shirt-front. "Let's go."

"My dad's talking to Ms. Green," Clint said. "We gotta get him first."

"Uh, sure." Peter hid his headphones and brushed back his hair with one awkward movement. Garmoa rolled her eyes as she turned away. "Ms. Green's office. I sure know the way."

"Thanks," James said, taking the children by the hands again.

Peter shrugged. "It's volunteer credit," he said. "This way I don't have to sell popcorn at the basketball games any more."

"Daddy, can I have popcorn?" Natasha asked, skipping down the hall.

"Not right now," James said. Up ahead, he spotted Steve, talking with St. Ursula's headmistress Ms. Green. "Steve."

Steve looked around. His face lit up with a smile. "Hey, everyone."

"Hi Daddy!" Clint exclaimed, running towards his dad. "Hi, Ms. Green. I have glasses now."

"Hello," Ms. Green said. "I like your glasses very much."

Clint beamed. "Thanks!"

"Hi Ms. Green!" Natasha said when she was closer. "I can't wait to start school!"

"Good." Ms. Green smiled at the children. "Now, I don't want to keep you. I will see you on the first day, all right?"

The children chorused, "Yes, Ms. Green!" and burst into laughter.

"I will email you those forms," Ms. Green said to Steve in an undertone, then she smiled at everyone and went down the hall.

"What was that about?" James asked, but Steve shook his head.

"Tell you later," he muttered. "So, how about we go see this teacher of yours?"

"Yes!" Natasha said, and everyone followed Peter down the hall.

"The first graders are in this hall," Peter said as they turned a corner. "Let me see your handout." He took the papers from James. "Oh."

"Oh?" James echoed. "We in the wrong place?"

"No, just…" Peter looked at the children. "You guys got _Mr. Logan._ "

"Who?" Natasha asked, as James said, "Mister?"

In front of them, the classroom door flew open, and a short, stocky man glared out at them. "Peter."

"Here's your two o'clock, Mr. Logan," Peter blurted out, then gave the children a wink before bolting down the hall. Natasha and Clint crowded close to James.

Well, here they were. "James Barnes," James said, prying his hand free of Natasha's death grip to hold out to the teacher. "I'm Natasha's father."

"Good to meet you," Mr. Logan said, giving James' hand a firm shake.

"Steve Rogers," Steve said, stepping forward. "Clint's mine."

"Good to meet you too."

Clint gulped audibly, then stepped forward, his little hand out. "Hi," he whispered. "I'm Clint."

Mr. Logan looked down at Clint. "Good," he said, and his expression shifted to a half-smile as he took Clint's hand. "I'm Mr. Logan, and I'm going to be your teacher this year."

They shook in a comically exaggerated fashion, then Natasha was wrestling her way forward. "I'm Natasha," she said, her hand out like Clint's had been. "I didn't know you taught first grade, Mr. Logan!"

"Yeah, I'm back after a few years," Mr. Logan said as he shook Natasha's hand. "Been in the senior school for a while," he added as he led everyone into the classroom.

"What were you teaching there?" Steve asked conversationally.

Mr. Logan stopped by his desk to look up at Steve through his bushy eyebrows. "Art."

Natasha and Clint, meanwhile, were running all around the room. "Kids," James said, wincing as Clint crashed into a desk. "Come over here."

"We're going to the story circle," Mr. Logan said, picking up a folder from his desk before leading Steve and James over to a large carpeted area. "All right, everyone. Sit."

He folded himself down with a grace James didn't expect in someone so muscular. Clint and Natasha collapsed onto the rug expectantly, while James and Steve managed to sit without making fools of themselves.

"Now what do we do?" Natasha asked.

"We talk about school this year, and you look around the room before school starts so there are no surprises on day one," Mr. Logan said. Clint's hand shot into the air. "Yes, Clint."

Clint lowered his hand. "I'm real smart," he announced. Steve winced. "Natasha's real smart too. We're best friends."

"That's all good stuff," Mr. Logan said sagely. "We're going to talk a lot about friends this year, being friends and being nice to each other."

James could only blink at the teacher. Mr. Logan looked more like the gruff drill sergeants James had in basic, although with far more facial hair. But he sounded calm and collected with the children.

James let out a breath. He trusted Ms. Green to staff her school with good teachers, so he was going to just have to wait and see how this went.

"But I'm smart too," Clint said, his little fingers worrying at his shirt cuffs. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

"Good." Mr. Logan reached behind him to pull around a colourfully painted milk crate. "See this? This is the Thinking Box." He upended the crate, scattering various toys over the rug. "Sometimes when you got thinking to do, you need something to do with your hands." He picked up a beanie baby. "Try it."

Natasha dove for a plastic horse, while Clint grabbed a large purple beanbag.

Mr. Logan glared at Steve and James. "Rule number one in my classroom," he said sternly, making Clint and Natasha giggle. "Everyone plays together."

Abashed, James reached for a stuffed carrot, while Steve plucked a slinky off the ground.

"Now," Mr. Logan said, passing his beanie baby between his hands. "We're going to talk about smarts in the third week of class, but Clint, because you brought it up, we're going to talk about it now too."

Clint sat up expectantly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mr. Logan pointed his toy at a poster on the far wall. "That there talks about the different kind of smarts people are. Because everyone is smart at their special things."

Clint stared. "Everyone?"

"Everyone." Mr. Logan shook his toy for emphasis. "That's important, so you remember that. Everyone is smart at their special things."

Clint was staring at Mr. Logan with his mouth open.

Natasha put her hand up. "I'm smart at dance," she said when Mr. Logan pointed at her. "And I'm smart at making up dinosaurs when we play."

"Good," Mr. Logan said in all seriousness. "Let's talk about the kinds of smart." He ticked off on his fingers as he went. "There's being smart outside. When you're outside and you see plants and animals and stuff like that. Then there's music smart, when you can stay in tune and in time."

"I like that," Natasha said. "I stay in time when I dance, Madame says so."

"Then there's numbers smart," Mr. Logan went on. "When you can think logically with numbers and stuff."

Clint's hand crept up. "Skye showed me how to add and even to minus," he whispered. "I didn't know it before. But I know it now."

"Good." Mr. Logan peered across the room at the poster. "What's next… oh yeah, there's body smart. When you know where your body's moving around. Like dance or sports."

Clint hugged his beanbag to his chest. "I did soccer but I didn't like that," he admitted. "But I do archery and I swim and that's with my body."

Mr. Logan hesitated. "Archery?" he repeated.

"Clint's doing very well in his archery class," Steve put in, fairly bursting with pride. "He has excellent aim."

"Huh." Mr. Logan opened his folder and made a note on a paper. "Archery. Good." He put his pen down. "And we certainly can't forget about being feelings smart."

"What's that?" Natasha asked, scratching her nose with the horse's hoof. James tapped her on the knee and shook his head, and she subsided.

"That's being able to understand what you're feeling," Mr. Logan said. "And also what other people are feeling. That's called empathy, and that's important."

Clint put his hand up again. "Sometimes, I have a feeling and I don't know what it means," he confessed.

"You and about ninety percent of the human population," Mr. Logan said. "We're going to work on that all year, so don't worry." Clint sat back, satisfied.

"Now," Mr. Logan said. "Good talk. We're going to talk some more, then you two are going to try out some work sheets and I'm going to talk to your dads. Sound like a plan?"

The next ten minutes were an information dump, as Mr. Logan asked the kids about their favorites on a number of topics, including movies and food and activities, while James and Steve sat there, trying not to look too dumb.

Mr. Logan ended this by closing his folder with a slap. "All right, who wants to go play some number games?" he asked, and the children jumped up cheering. "Over to the painting table!"

Clint and Natasha raced each other across the room, while James and Steve struggled to stand. Mr. Logan, already on his feet, eyed them understandingly.

"Getting old sucks," he said, then put his pencil between his teeth. "You, go sit over by my desk. All right, kids, take a seat!"

The children settled and looked at Mr. Logan expectantly as he handed them each a sheet of paper and a pencil, then instructed them on what to do. He pointed at the clock a couple of times, got a nod each in return, then left them to it. They dove for the papers excitedly as Mr. Logan wandered back to his desk.

"I have never seen Clint excited about schoolwork," Steve said, a little stunned.

"Hey, math can be fun," Mr. Logan grumbled. "All right, you doing this together or separate?"

James blinked. "Huh?"

"You talking about the kids together, or one-on-one?" Mr. Logan asked as he sat down.

"We can talk about them together," Steve said, looking to James for agreement. "Maybe we shoulda brought Skye."

Mr. Logan's eyebrow went up.

"She's their tutor, au pair, something like that," James explained. "She taught Clint to read this summer, more than that other school ever did."

"Nah, I'm not interested in that stuff." Mr. Logan chomped on his pencil like a cigar. "I don't even care if they can't read by the time they leave my class." James felt his eyes go wide. "Not like that, settle down. The whole point of this year, we focus on learning how to deal with other people, be friends, deal with disagreement, all that stuff." He pointed the pencil at James. "We also do reading and math and spelling, so don't give me none of that falling behind bullshit. No one falls behind when they're six. They still got time to get into medical school."

"I don't care if Natasha goes to medical school," James said, feeling defensive. "I don't care if she goes to college, if that's her choice, but I want her to be ready for the real world."

Mr. Logan shook his head. "You know, bub, in my twenty years of teaching in this school, I never heard a parent say they don't care if their kid goes to college."

James sat up straighter. "My kid's good with numbers, and she's great at reading," he said, keeping his voice low so the children didn't overhear. "Book learning won't ever be her problem."

"Oh, I didn't say it was a bad thing," Mr. Logan said, and actually cracked a grin at James. "Just that other parents won't say it. Even when some of their kids would do better in a trades school or the military."

James snorted. "Bet you never say _that_ to parents."

Mr. Logan looked at Steve. "What about you, you want Clint to go to medical school?"

Steve blinked. "If he wants, but I think he'd rather compete in the Olympics for archery."

"One doesn't exclude the other," Mr. Logan said. "But good, Olympics are interesting, kids like that stuff." He made another note. "Now, tell me about your kids."

The discussion was more measured than the one with the kids had been, but as information heavy. James explained about Natasha's struggles with interpersonal conflict, and then Steve unbent enough to talk about Clint's challenges the previous year in addition to the areas where he excelled.

A few minutes later, Mr. Logan stopped them to call out, "Pencils down!"

At the table, Natasha tossed down her pencil dramatically, but Clint was still bent over his paper.

"Clint, time's up," Mr. Logan said, getting up.

"But I'm almost done!" Clint said, looking up frantically. "I only got one left!"

"Wow, that's really good," Mr. Logan said, strolling over to the table. "But remember what I said, you didn't have to do them all, only the ones you wanted to."

"I wanted to do them all," Clint said, reluctantly handing over his paper. "I did all the adding ones. I even did some of the minusing ones, too."

"I didn't do those," Natasha said. "I didn't want to."

Mr. Logan sighed. "And that is what I said," he agreed. "All right. Who wants to look at the science corner?"

The rest of the visit was taken up by a serious examination of the classroom, including the art supplies, the science corner, the snack table (Clint took great interest in this), and the ever-important storybook wall.

At the end of it all, Mr. Logan handed Steve and James a thick stack of papers each. "Your dads have homework," Mr. Logan said sternly, making the children laugh. "And you two too, you also have homework before I see you next week."

"What is it?" Natasha asked, bouncing up and down.

"Well, you find a story you like, and you read it yourself or you get your dads to read it to you," Mr. Logan said. "And then you write the name of the story down, and one thing you liked about it."

Clint put his hand up. "I like Harry Potter," he announced. "Harry Potter does magic."

"There you go." Mr. Logan shooed the children towards the door. "But maybe you can pick a shorter book to read this weekend."

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Bye!"

"Bye, Mr. Logan!" Natasha yelled.

"Thanks," James said, shaking Mr. Logan's hand again.

"Yes, thanks so much," Steve said, next in line. "I think Clint's going to do great this year."

"That's the plan," Mr. Logan said. "Your kids are running off."

"Bye," James said, and bolted after Natasha and Clint before they could vanish into the depths of the school.

* * *

James stopped for ice cream on the way home to celebrate a successful school interview. "That was fun," Natasha said, ice cream dripping down her chin.

"I like Mr. Logan," Clint said. "He is a nice teacher man. I didn't know that men could be a teacher, but now I know it."

"Uncle Bruce used to be a teacher," Steve said, leaning back in exhaustion. "He used to teach at a university."

"Why doesn't he now?" Clint asked, then slurped up a mouthful of ice cream.

"He's doing different science now with Uncle Tony," Steve said. He wiped Clint's face with a napkin. "I hope this year's going to be great."

"It will," Natasha said decisively. "Because Clint and I are in a class together, and we are best friends."

Clint patted the back of Steve's hand. "Daddy," he said seriously, "Were you and James in the same class in school?"

"We were in some years," Steve said. "In second and third grade, I remember that we were."

"Clint and me will always be in the same class!" Natasha exclaimed. "Always." She nodded firmly. "Daddy, can I have more ice cream?"

"Nope, you've had enough sugar." James kicked Steve's ankle under the table. "What do you say we head home and change out of these monkey suits, and then head to the park?"

Steve smiled at James, a slow, brilliant smile that took James' breath away. "Yeah," he said. "All of us, together."

James smiled back. "Yeah," he agreed. "Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun (?) fact – [children as young as eleven can be employed in New York State delivering papers, while 12- and 13-year olds can work four hours a day picking produce](https://labor.ny.gov/workerprotection/laborstandards/workprot/lschlhrs.shtm). I learn so much writing this story.
> 
>  
> 
> [The types of intelligence thing referenced by Logan](http://skyview.vansd.org/lschmidt/Projects/The%20Nine%20Types%20of%20Intelligence.htm)


	28. I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the one where Steve’s dad comes for a visit, Steve fucks things up, and Steve and Bucky Finally Talk Things Out
> 
> Chapter soundtrack: I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good by the Oscar Peterson Trio: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BgvoQzmhIM>

* * *

James stood on the sidewalk outside of the Plaza Hotel, holding Natasha's hand and waiting with as much patience as he had left in him for Clint to stop clinging to Skye.

"But—but I don't want you to go!" Clint said, hiccuping gently.

"It's okay," Skye said again, patting Clint on the back. "You heard what your dad said, I'll be seeing you in a few weeks to babysit you and Natasha."

"But how do I know you'll come back?" Clint wailed. The threatened tears finally broke, large drops spilling down Clint's cheeks.

"Because I told you, buddy," Steve said, frustration and panic mixing in his expression. He had been down on one knee beside Clint and Skye for five minutes, trying to keep Clint's simmering sadness from breaking out into a full-scale tantrum on one of New York's busiest sidewalks.

"But how do I _know_?" Clint pressed.

Natasha, who had been oddly well-behaved during this scene, suddenly tugged on James' hand. He looked down at his daughter. Under the strength of her glare, he bent down to pick her up.

"Daddy," she hissed in ear once she was balanced on his right arm. "Daddy, why is Clint so sad? He's a big boy!"

James held in a sigh. "Clint's going to miss Skye," he said quietly. At his feet, Clint had now taken off his glasses to rub huge tears onto his sleeve. "So he's sad that he has to say goodbye."

Natasha frowned down at Clint. "But we're going to school," she pointed out, wrapping her fingers around James' tie. "And Skye has to go to school too. And she's gonna come babysit us, Steve said so _three times!"_

James bounced Natasha a little higher on his arm. She was getting bigger every day, and at five and a half, she was tall enough for holding her was a bit awkward. "Everyone misses people a little differently," he said after a moment's thought. He had his own opinions about Clint's abandonment issues, but it wasn't his place to talk about that. That was Steve's business and James wasn't about to butt in. "Sometimes, when someone we love goes away, even for a little while, we can get sad."

"I don't."

James raised his eyebrows, at a complete loss how to respond to this. Luckily, Natasha had moved back to staring at Clint. James knew by her expression that she was getting bored, and when she got bored she was more blunt than Clint could probably handle in his fragile state.

He caught Steve's eye and made a gesture. Steve stood up to move closer to James. "What?" Steve asked.

James set Natasha on her feet. "Nat's at her daily sympathy limit," he said quietly. "What do you think about splitting up? I can take Nat home and get everything ready for when Abraham gets there."

Steve pushed his hair back from his face. "Yeah, that's a good idea. He's going to be at your place in an hour."

"I know." James dug into his pocket to retrieve the jeep key. "Why don't you drive? Clint might not like to be on the subway in rush hour when he's like this."

Privately, James was pretty sure that Clint was so miserable that he wouldn't care where he was, but Steve could probably use a little quiet.

Steve's hand closed around the keys, and his "Thank you," was a little too fervent. "You're gonna take the train? Take my metro card."

James accepted the card and Steve's keys, then had to reach out to grab Natasha before the girl wandered off. "Natasha, we're going in a minute. Can you go say goodbye to Skye?"

Natasha wrinkled her nose up at her father before marching over to where the young woman was still trying to soothe Clint. "Bye Skye," Natasha said loudly, staring at Clint the whole time. "See you when you come babysit."

"Bye-bye, Natasha." Skye held out her free arm. Natasha dove in for a brief hug, then glared at Clint some more until James took her by the hand to haul her away.

"I'll talk to you soon, Skye," James said, giving her a sympathetic smile. Then he was off, guiding Natasha over to the crosswalk.

When they were far enough away that the crush of people blocked Clint, Skye and Steve from view, Natasha stomped her feet. "Why'd Clint have to ruin everything?" she demanded. "Why'd he have to cry and get so sad?"

"Clint didn't ruin anything," James said as he gave Natasha's hand a squeeze. "He loves Skye very much and he's sad to see her go."

Natasha marched along angrily until they got to the subway station entrance. "I don't like it when Clint cries all the time," she said as James swiped Steve's metro card. "It makes me mad!"

"I don't think you mean 'mad'," James said as he directed Natasha towards the stairs to the train.

"I _feel_ mad," Natasha grumbled. She clung tight to James' hand as they descend to the platform.

Once there, James pulled Natasha over to a spot out of the line of traffic and crouched down beside her. "Can you tell me how it feels when you feel mad?" he asked.

Natasha squirmed.

"Natasha, this is important. Understanding why we feel the way we do, it's important, especially when it has to do with our friends."

Natasha's mouth curved down into a frown. "When I feel mad, I feel _bad_ ," she said. She slumped against James' side, clinging to his tie. "My tummy feels bad and my heart feels bad." She pointed to her breastbone, just below her collarbone. "I don't like it."

"That does sound like it feels bad," James commiserated. "Have you ever felt like that before?"

"Yeah, a few times in school," Natasha said. "Once when Arthur spilled paint on the sand table and told Mrs. Singh that it was my fault. And once when we had to do a painting in a group and no one listened to me."

"That sounds really frustrating." James extracted his tie from Natasha's grip as the train pulled into the station. "Okay, we're going to go on the train now, hold my hand tight!"

Natasha held tight. They managed to get into the train in one piece. James snagged a seat, and pulled Natasha up onto his knee as the train began to move again.

"Daddy, do you ever get mad at Steve?" Natasha asked, leaning against his chest.

"No," James said. It was a little lie, but it better suited the lesson James was trying to impart. "But sometimes I get frustrated when I don't know how to help him. Like, today, I bet you really wanted to do something to help Clint not be sad about Skye leaving."

There was a moment of silence as Natasha digested this. "Maybe," she eventually said.

"Sometimes, we can help our friends, but sometimes we can't," James went on. "Sometimes our friends have to work through their own problems, and all we can do is to stand by and be their friend."

"That's dumb," Natasha said morosely.

"Yeah," James commiserated. "But that's life."

Natasha heaved a huge sigh.

"All right," James said, needing to change the subject away from all the sadness. "Are you looking forward to seeing Grandpa Abraham?"

"Yes!" Natasha exclaimed, perking up. "He's the best grandpa. Even if he's not _my_ grandpa, he's the best."

"He sure is."

"How long's he going to stay with us?" Natasha asked, sitting up.

"He's not staying at our house, he's staying with Clint and Steve." James put his hand on Natasha's back to keep her balanced. "He's coming over tonight and we're all going to have dinner, and then tomorrow he's going to spend the morning with Clint and Steve and then we're all going to go out for dinner. He's leaving Sunday afternoon, and then you kids start school on Tuesday."

"That's a lot of stuff," Natasha said. "What's for dinner?"

"Are you hungry already?" James asked in mock horror. Natasha giggled. "That's why we went to that afternoon tea party, so you guys could eat all the fun food and you won't get too hungry for dinner."

"Daaaad," Natasha said. "You said we went there to have a goodbye party for Skye!"

"That too." James bounced Natasha on his knee. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was _cool_ ," Natasha said, drawing out the vowel sounds in the last word. "Until Clint started crying."

"Nat."

Natasha harrumphed. "I don't like it when Clint cries."

James agreed. "What can we do the next time our friends cry?"

Natasha pondered this. "We can say, hey you! Why are you crying?"

"That's a good one. What else?"

They brainstormed all the way to their stop, and once they had climbed to the street, Natasha was once again her bouncy happy self.

The walk home didn't take long. Once inside, James directed Natasha to run upstairs to change out of her special dress while he headed into the kitchen to get dinner started. He had spent most of the previous evening preparing, so all he had to do now was to pull the vegetable and appetizer platters out of the fridge in case anyone wanted a snack before dinner. Everything else could wait in the fridge until it was time to put the food on the grill. Satisfied, James puttered around, getting the coffee maker ready in case Abraham wanted a cup after his long trip, then stepped back to consider.

Everything was ready to go.

"Daddy!" came Natasha's shout from upstairs. "Does Grandpa Abraham want to see my memory rock?"

James retraced his steps to the living room. "How about you leave it upstairs for now," he suggested from the foot of the stairs. "You can show it to him later."

"Okay!" The patter of tiny feet moved overhead.

Satisfied that Natasha was all right, James pulled his phone out of his pocket. There was one text from Steve, timestamped a few minutes before, saying that he and Clint were just getting in the car for the drive to Brooklyn.

Glancing at the time, James guessed that it would take Steve about half an hour to drive through the rush-hour traffic. He hoped that Clint had calmed down.

Thumps on the stairs preceded Natasha's arrival. James looked up from his phone. "Natasha, why aren't you wearing any pants?"

Natasha stopped dead to stare at her father. "I'm in my _bathing suit_ ," she said scathingly, turning around to point her little swimsuit-covered bum towards her father. "Because I want to go in the _sprinkler_. You don't wear pants with a _bathing suit_."

James pocketed his phone. "So why are you wearing a t-shirt?"

Natasha shrugged. "I like this shirt, it has a unicorn on it."

"You're not going into the sprinkler right now, we have company coming over." James crossed the living room to turn Natasha around. "You can put some pants on."

Natasha harrumphed. "Pants are so dumb!" she said, letting James march her up the stars. "Clint says so all the time!"

"Neither of you are wrong, but we all gotta wear pants when company is coming over."

Natasha stomped her feet as she entered her bedroom. "I don't want to wear pants!" she exclaimed.

"How about shorts?" James asked, picking up Natasha's dress from the crumbled heap on the floor.

"No!"

"A skirt?"

Natasha stopped mid-stomp to consider this. "Can I wear my new school skirt?" she asked.

"Sure," James said, well versed in the art of compromise with a five year old. "Go get it out of the drawer."

With Natasha's energies deflected, it was easy to get her dressed, combed and washed before the doorbell rang. With a cry of delight, Natasha scampered downstairs, James on her heels. "It's Grandpa Abraham!" Natasha shouted joyously, plastering herself against the glass of the inner door. "Daddy! It's Grandpa Abraham!"

With only a small struggle, James got Natasha out of the way to open the doors. Abraham stood on the front step, watching Natasha and James in some small amusement. "Come on in," James said, holding the door.

"Thank you, thank you." Abraham carried his bags into the house, somehow not tripping over Natasha who was bouncing at his feet like a hyperactive bunny. "It is good to see you again."

"Grandpa Abraham!" Natasha exclaimed. "Hi! Do you remember me?"

"Of course I remember you." Abraham set his bags down beside the hall table. "It is good to see you again, Natasha."

Natasha stopped bouncing and beamed up at Abraham. "I'm glad to see you too!" she said, then she ducked her head and tried to hide behind James' leg.

"Steve and Clint are going to be here soon," James said, putting his hand on Natasha's head. "How was the drive?"

"Not bad," Abraham said.

"Can I get you anything?" James asked. He had never really been great at entertaining; the only people who came over to his place were Maria or Nick Fury, both of whom would grab whatever they wanted to get comfortable. "Coffee or something?"

Abraham's face relaxed into another smile. "Coffee would be wonderful."

James patted Natasha's shoulder until the girl looked up at him. "Natasha, we're going into the kitchen."

"All right." The girl released his leg. "Can I have a popsicle?"

"Let's wait on the popsicles until Clint gets here."

In the kitchen, James went to the coffee maker to press the button. Natasha climbed up onto the step-stool to look over the platters on the counter. "Daddy, what's all this?"

"These are snacks in case anyone gets hungry before dinner," James said.

"Okay." Natasha climbed down. "I'm not hungry. I'm _full_." She patted her tummy for emphasis. "Grandpa Abraham, we went to have afternoon _tea_. With tiny _sandwiches_."

"That sounds delightful." Abraham sat down at the table with a wince. "My hip," he said in response to James' questioning glance. "I did something stupid in Atlantic City earlier this month. I'll be all right in a few weeks."

"Sitting in a car from New Jersey can't have been any help," James said, pulling down coffee mugs from the cupboard.

"No," Abraham said. "I will go for a walk later on, when it is less hot."

Natasha, who was watching this exchange with a frown on her face, said, "You can come play in the sprinkler with me and Clint."

"Ah, thank you." Abraham shifted on the chair. "But I think I am just a little too old for the sprinkler. I will stay a spectator."

Natasha slumped back. "Okay," she said sadly. Then she perked up again. "Hey, do you want to read a book with me?"

"Of course," Abraham said before James could jump in. "I like to read books."

"Books are the best!" Natasha bounced off her chair and darted out of the room.

"Thanks," James said in the ensuing quiet. "She can read some, but she likes it when someone else will read to her."

"My girls were the same at her age." Abraham took the mug of coffee from James. "Steven tells me that Clint is doing very well with his reading?"

"Yeah, the kid's a natural." James carried the cream carton over to the table. "Even since you were here last, he's gotten so much better. Skye worked wonders with him over the summer."

"Good." Abraham took off his glasses. "I was worried for him in that school last year. It was not a good fit."

"Nope." James took a sip of his coffee to cover his remembered anger at Clint's old teachers. "But St. Ursula's should be. The kids went to meet their teacher on Wednesday, and they hit it off."

"Daddy, there's no hitting," Natasha said severely as she re-entered the room, book in hand. "Hitting is _bad_ ," she explained to Abraham.

"I agree." Abraham shifted around as Natasha climbed up onto her chair. "What book do you have?"

"This is a book about a little mouse who is a girl," Natasha said. "She has a friend who is a frog."

"Ah, what a nice story." Abraham opened the book. "Do you want me to start?"

"No, I want to read it to you!" Natasha turned over the first page. " 'My name is Melissa Mouse'," she began, and James settled into his chair to watch his daughter read aloud to Steve's father.

It was slow going, but Abraham was gentle in helping Natasha sound out any unfamiliar words. Natasha beamed under his praise and kept going. James, sipping at his coffee, was grateful for the little bit of calm before Steve and Clint returned. He loved Steve, but things tended to get loud with the Rogers' boys were in the house.

With a flourish, Natasha slapped the book closed. "The end," she announced. "It didn't say that. But I say that."

"That is a good way to end a story," Abraham agreed. He sat back in his chair. "Now, I am going to get another cup of coffee."

He stood, as James pushed back his chair. "Can I?" James asked.

Abraham waved him to stay seated. "No, I need to walk around." He headed creakily over to the counter. "These are lovely vegetable platters here."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed, following Abraham. She climbed back up on the step stool to peruse the snacks. "My daddy made these, and I helped."

James raised his eyebrows. "You did?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Yes, I stirred the dips," she said with relish. "Can I have a carrot?"

"Sure."

"Can I as well?" Abraham asked Natasha. She grinned up at him.

"Yes! But wait until I get a plate because you're not supposed to eat off the platter," Natasha said solemnly. "We got told that in school. It's germy."

Bouncing down from the stool, Natasha went to the cupboard. While she was occupied, James joined Abraham at the counter.

"Is Clint still against vegetables?" Abraham asked in an undertone.

"Raw ones, yeah, unless they're slathered in ranch dressing," James replied. "He still can't stand the taste of raw broccoli."

"I like broccoli," Natasha put in, returning to the step stool with a plate in her hands. "I'll eat Clint's broccoli. And then he won't get in trouble."

"Clint won't get in trouble for not eating broccoli," James said. "Is that plate for Abraham?"

"It's mine," Natasha said, frowning at her father.

"What about a plate for Abraham?"

Natasha frowned harder. "You didn't tell me to."

"Why don't you show me where they are," Abraham said, stepping in. "Then I will get a plate for myself."

"I will do that," Natasha said, giving her father one last glare, before stepping off the stool and taking Abraham's hand. "We have lots of plates."

James checked his phone. No more messages from Steve. He was probably stuck in traffic over the bridge.

"I think I like the peppers the best," Natasha was saying as she and Abraham returned to the counter. "The red ones. Not the green ones. Those are gross."

"Ah, well, I will take the green ones," Abraham said philosophically. "Let's take out plates to the table to eat."

James looked at his watch. "Would you two be okay for a few minutes?" he asked. "I should go change the laundry."

"Yeah, go away, Daddy," Natasha said without looking at him. "I'm hanging out with _Grandpa Abraham_."

Abraham gave James a sympathetic smile. "Take your time, we are fine up here."

"Yell if you need anything," James said as he headed out of the kitchen. The load of clothing he'd put in the washer before leaving for Skye's going away party was resting at the bottom of the basin, and the towels in the dryer were wrinkling gently. Swapping the loads out and carrying the towels up to the second floor to fold later, didn't take long. As James moved through the house, he could hear Natasha's voice, high and bright, and Abraham's responses, lower and calm.

James paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, suddenly overwhelmed. This was his life. He had a nice house, a good job, and the world's greatest daughter. And any minute now, his best friend in the whole world would be getting home, and then everyone would be together, and everything would be perfect.

James leaned against the wall and pressed his palm over his face. Everything was okay. So why did he feel an icy ball in the put of his stomach, like something was going to go wrong?

 _Just because your life always got fucked up before, doesn't mean it's going to happen now,_ James told himself. Natasha was okay. Steve was okay. Clint was a little sad about Skye, but he was okay.

Nothing was going to go wrong. James wasn't going to let it.

Taking a deep breath, James stood up straight. Everything was going to be okay. It had to be.

Back in the kitchen, Natasha was gleefully laying out playing cards on the table. "Daddy!" she squealed when James entered the room. "Grandpa Abraham is going to play Go Fish with me!"

"She suckered you in, huh?" James asked.

"I do like card games," Abraham said ruefully. "And this one shouldn't take too long, yes?"

"I love Go Fish!" Natasha gloated. "It's the best!"

"After we are done this," Abraham said, "I will show you how to play other card games you can play at school."

"Okay," Natasha said. "I will go first. Do you have a _four_?"

"Go fish."

James went to get another cup of coffee. He was just refilling Abraham's cup when the front door opened. "We're here!" Steve yelled into the house.

"I'm in the kitchen!" Natasha screeched. "Grandpa Abraham is here!"

The pitter-patter of tiny feet preceded Clint's arrival on the scene. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were red, but he was no longer crying. "Hi, Grandpa Abraham," Clint said morosely as he flung himself at his grandfather. "Skye's _gone_."

"Ah, that is sad," Abraham said, hugging Clint.

"We're gonna see Skye in a few weeks," Natasha pointed out, her expression going stormy.

"Natasha," James said, hoping to stave off a confrontation between the children. "Remember what we talked about on the train?"

Natasha glared at her father for a moment, before slipping off her chair and going to Clint's side. She patted him on the arm. "I am sorry that you are sad," she recited. "You are my friend."

Clint sniffled. "Thanks," he said. "You are my friend too."

"We're going to be in school together so we'll see each other _every day_ ," Natasha went on.

"Yeah," Clint said, cheering up a bit. "Hey, Grandpa Abraham, me and Natasha are going to be in the same class! We met our teacher, he's Mr. Logan and he's real nice."

"That sounds like a wonderful story," Abraham said, setting Clint on his feet with a few pats on his back. "How about you sit and play cards with us, and you can both tell me?"

Steve came into the kitchen, subdued. He wandered over to the table to give Abraham a hug and a quick greeting, then reached out to help Clint climb into a chair. Only then did Steve wander over to James' side.

James was glad to see Steve, but something about the man's expression made James feel suddenly very tired.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Steve asked, rubbing his chin nervously.

James spared a look at the kids, who were talking a million miles a minute at Abraham. "Sure."

They went into the living room, where Steve collapsed on the couch with an explosive sigh. James, feeling more exhausted by the minute, sat beside him.

"Did you wreck my car?" James asked.

Steve jerked upright. "What? No!"

"Then why you lookin' like that?"

Steve grabbed one of the throw pillows to whack James. "I didn't expect Clint to be so broken up about Skye," he admitted, dropping the pillow as he leaned against James' side.

"Me neither."

"After Skye left, Clint was still real upset, you know?" Steve wriggled so his leg was pressed against James'. "I didn't know what to do. And then out of nowhere, Sharon calls."

James turned to look at Steve. "Why?"

"She wanted to talk about seeing Clint next week," Steve said. "She's going to pick him up after school on Thursday and take him for dinner and then drop him off before bed. She still doesn't have a place yet for Clint to stay over, and she thought it would be best to ease back into this whole thing."

"Great. And?"

"What do you mean, 'And'?"

"I mean, 'and' from that look in your dumb face, there's more to it."

Steve slouched lower on the couch. "I told her Abraham was in town and I guess I kinda invited her over for dinner with everyone tomorrow night," he said to the coffee table.

James blinked. "We're going out for dinner tomorrow night."

Steve looked up. "That's tonight."

"No, that's tomorrow," James said. "We're having grilled chicken tonight, here, because you thought it would be better for Abraham to settle in, and then we're going to that Italian place for dinner tomorrow night. You made the reservation yesterday."

Steve sat up, yanking out his phone. "No, it's—" He stared at the screen. "Tomorrow. Shit."

James rubbed his forehead, his mind already rearranging plans on an already busy weekend. "Okay, so Sharon's coming for dinner tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Bucky, I'm sorry, I didn't think…" Steve was typing on his phone. "I'll cancel with Sharon—"

"No," James interrupted. "Does Clint know he's seeing her tomorrow?"

Steve's expression changed from surprise, to confusion, to chagrin. "Yes." He put his phone down. "Shit, I can't cancel, can I?"

James forced a smile onto his face. "It's no big deal. I'll go to the grocer's now, get stuff for tomorrow dinner, if you can watch the kids and maybe get the grill going at five?"

"You're going shopping now?"

"Kosher grocery stores aren't open on Saturday, so yeah." James levered himself to his feet. "Sunset isn't until seven-thirty, but getting across town in rush-hour traffic's going to be a bitch."

"No, I meant, you shouldn't have to do that when I screwed up," Steve said as he stood. "I should go."

"Steve." James caught Steve's wrist, making the other man turn to face him. Steve's eyes were troubled. "It's not a problem. You stay here with your dad, try to relax a bit, okay? I got this."

 "You got this," Steve repeated. He stepped in against James' body, leaning his forehead against James'. James let out a soft breath at the closeness. "Damn it, Bucky, how come you always know what to do?"

"Eight years in the Army," James said as he closed his eyes. He could stand like this with Steve forever. "Seriously, if no one's screaming and no one's bleeding, everything's going to be okay."

Steve put his arms around James, pulling him in for a hug. James returned the embrace. He had been telling the truth – everything was going to be okay. Just because his carefully planned weekend had been upended by Steve, that was nothing to get upset about. The kids were okay and having dinner at his house two nights in a row, that was nothing to complain about. It would be cheaper, too, and that was good.

"All right," James said, slapping Steve on the back. "Gimme my keys, I gotta get moving."

After making sure that Natasha was fine, James headed for the jeep. Traffic on the roads on a Friday rush-hour was heavy, but James made it to the kosher supermarket with enough time before closing. He grabbed a basket and headed for the butcher's counter, trying to think about what he had at home.

He could try to show off his cooking skills for Abraham and get a roast. But would the kids like that? Would Steve? And did James really want to spend all afternoon cooking, especially in this heat?

It would have been so much easier on James if Steve hadn't thoughtlessly upended their plans.

James pressed his lips together at that thought. He wasn't going to go there. He'd told Steve that everything was all right, and it would be. It wasn't a big deal. This way, Abraham could spend time with Steve and Clint, and Clint could see his mother, and then the weekend would be over and the kids would be in school and James could get everything back to normal.

It wasn't a big deal.

After deciding that he didn't want to spend four hours cooking on a Saturday afternoon, James got ground beef for hamburgers, hot dogs for the kids, then wandered around the produce section for a while to stock up on salad fixings in case Sharon was a vegetarian and Steve had forgot to mention it.

After paying and lugging his groceries to the jeep, James texted Steve to say he was on the way home. He noticed that he has a text from Maria to call her, so once the jeep was back on the road, James dialled her number.

After the usual greetings, Maria said, "Why are you on the road at this time of day? You hate rush hour."

"When did I say that?"

"When I asked you to come to a meeting in Queens two years ago. I thought you were taking a break from everything this weekend because Steve's dad was in town."

"He is." James signalled to change lanes. "We were going to go out for dinner tomorrow but then Steve's ex called and he invited her for dinner at my house instead, so I'm halfway across town shopping before the grocery stores close for the Sabbath. No big deal."

There was a moment's silence on the line. "Barnes," Maria said cautiously, and James knew he didn't want to hear what she was going to say with that tone. "Can I give you some relationship advice?"

"Why would I need any of that?" James asked, then had to brake hard. "Fuckin' asshole, use your fuckin' blinker!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just some ass-wipe cock-up who can't fucking drive," James said, his heart pounding in his throat. "What were you saying?"

"I was going to tell you something you don't want to hear, but I'm going to say it anyway."

"Maria," James said, slowing down to get more space between him and the idiot ahead of him. "Since I known you, when have you ever not just said whatever you want to?"

"I'm just going to say this and then we can drop it," Maria said. "Have you told Steve that this bothers you?"

"It doesn't bother me," James objected.

"Okay." Maria cleared her throat. "Did you have a chance to look over those schematics for the Rosemary Heights job?"

"Not yet." James shoulder checked to get into the right-hand lane. The asshole ahead of him was making James uncomfortable, so he was going to take a different route home. "We were busy with Skye's going-away party and then I had to get Nat home on the train. Do you need me to do that when I get home?"

"No, it can wait until Tuesday," Maria said. "I need to look into the company that makes the hardware a little more."

"Why, you hear something?" James asked.

"No, just being careful."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything from me."

"Do you want to meet up on Tuesday?"

"Can we push it to Wednesday? Natasha starts school and I want to stick around home in case I have to go pick her up early."

"Sure, I'll send an invite. Just…. Be careful, okay?"

"With the driving or the first day of school?" James asked deliberately.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant." Maria hung up.

Shaking his head, James concentrated on driving north. He knew Maria meant well, but she didn't know what was going on with James. If he said everything was okay, then everything was okay.

James managed to get home without incident. Given the time of day, he had to park a couple of blocks away from his house. The combination of the afternoon heat and the weight of his suit made for an unpleasant walk, and James was in a foul mood when he finally made it up the steps to his house. The heavy grocery bag, held by necessity in his prosthetic hand while he unlocked the door with his right, had yanked the arm's straps tight against James' ribs by the time he finally made it into the house.

"Daddy?" yelled Natasha from a distance as James set the bag down on the living room floor. "Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" James yelled back. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on a hook. He'd take it upstairs later.

Steve came out into the living room. "You're back," he said, smiling widely at James. "Everything's ready for dinner, the chicken needs to cook for another few minutes."

"Good." James picked up the grocery bag. "How's Clint?"

"Better," Steve said with a nod. "Abraham has the two of them playing poker for chocolate chips."

James raised his eyebrows. "Poker?"

Steve shrugged. "The kids like it."

"For chocolate, they'll like anything," James said, heading to the kitchen. Abraham and the children had migrated out onto the back deck, and the scent of the chicken on the grill was drifting through the open door into the kitchen.

James set the bag on the counter and began to unpack it. Steve came up beside him. "Do you want me to put that stuff away?" he asked.

"I got it." James' tone might have been a bit sharp, but that was just because of the rub of the straps against his ribs. "Go hang out with your dad or something."

Steve didn't move. "Bucky, is something wrong?"

James didn't look up. "Of course not," he said as he opened the fridge door. "Do we need anything else for dinner or just the chicken?"

"Just the chicken. The table is set."

"Okay." James dumped the vegetables into the drawer, and pushed it shut with his foot. " I think I'll go upstairs to change."

"We'll be ready to eat soon."

James closed the fridge. "I won't take long."

"Okay."

Without looking at Steve, James left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

His bedroom was a little messy, with his jeans from the previous day lying in the middle of the floor and Steve's socks kicked over to the wall. James closed the door halfway before undoing his tie and tacking his shirt buttons. Before, even on the train ride home, James hadn't minded the suit, but all of a sudden it was like he was being suffocated.

He threw the tie and shirt in the general direction of the hamper. The pull of the prosthetic's anchor strap was raw against James' skin. He didn't want to take the arm off, wanted to look at least somewhat functional around Steve's father, but all of a sudden he couldn't stand it any more. It took him a few tries to loosen the buckle across his chest, but finally he was able to pull the prosthetic off his arm stump, then sat to put the metal limb on his lap to ease his left arm out of the anchor strap.

There. It was off.

James sat, energy suddenly gone, staring at the arm. The icy ball that had been hiding in his gut was growing larger, making him feel sick.

Something was going to go wrong, he just _knew_ it.

Pushing the arm onto the bed, James leant forward to rest his elbow against his leg. After Steve had walked in to the house and thrown over James' careful plans for the weekend, things had been bad, but then he'd nearly been in that crash on the road, and he still hadn't come down from that adrenaline spike.

He _hated_ it; hated having his mind pulled back to Iraq and the explosion that had taken his arm. Natasha hadn't been with him in the car today, but what if she had? What if there had been a real crash and Natasha had been hurt?

What if she'd been killed?

James balled his hand up in the fabric of his pantleg. If anything happened to Natasha, James would never be able to forgive himself. He'd gotten so much better about driving her around the city, but what if one day, he fucked up? What if she got hurt?

James tried to breathe evenly. When he had first come back from overseas, the therapists had walked him through coping tactics for flashbacks and panic attacks. This wasn't quite like that; no sudden blow that had come upon him, just the underlying lingering dread that was reaching up to strangle him.

He had to breathe. Natasha was fine; she was downstairs and healthy and safe.

Natasha was safe.

Knowing that wasn't helping. James flattened his hand against the mattress. Why wasn't it helping?

"Bucky?"

James looked up. Steve stood in the doorway. "What's wrong?" James asked sharply. "Is it Nat?"

"She's fine, everyone's fine," Steve said. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "What's going on?"

James rubbed his eyes. "I'm fucked up, that's what's wrong," he said. He was angry at himself for being so goddamned _weak_. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to check up on you," Steve said. When James uncovered his eyes, it was to find Steve had settled onto the floor at James' feet. "Do you want to talk about what's going on?"

James emphatically did not. "Are you sure Natasha is safe?" he asked as he balled his hand up in his pantleg again. "She's not going to touch the grill or anything?"

"I turned the grill off, and Abraham is with them, getting them washed up for dinner," Steve said. He just sat there at James' feet, looking up at him. "The kids aren't in any danger."

James let his hand twist downward; the edge of the fabric bit against his leg, and his fingers ached with the force of his grip, but the physical pressure that bordered on pain was enough to keep him from going crazy with Steve sitting right there in front of him.

Still, James had to ask. "Are you sure?"

"Bucky, the kids are okay," Steve said. He put a hand out, touching James' foot. "You're not. What's up?"

James let go of his pantleg, his hand aching with the tension. "I had everything all planned out, this weekend, then I had to go out shopping and some dickhead nearly runs me off the road and everything's just fucked up, you know?"

Steve moved his hand around to hold James' ankle. "Are you okay?"

James stared down at his knee. "Do I really gotta answer that?"

"I meant physically. Did you crash?"

James shook his head. "Had to stop pretty fast, but I didn't hit anything." He dug his nails into the bed's top blanket. "Just when shit like this happens, I get all fucked up remembering this." He waved his left arm stump. "And if Nat had been with me—"

"She wasn't," Steve said quickly. "And even if she was, like you said, you didn't get hit or anything—"

"Fuck, Steve, don't you think I know that?" James interrupted. He moved his foot away from Steve's hand. "I ain't got a fucking reason for this shit I go through, okay?"

Steve didn't reach for James again. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked quietly.

James chanced a glance up at him. Steve was looking at James steadily, his eyes clear. James felt a sudden pressure in his chest. This was Steve, _his_ Steve. And he could say that now. Whatever was happening, James had to remember that Steve was on his side, even when some of the stuff Steve did unintentionally made James' life complicated.

Steve was on his side.

James held out his hand and Steve took it, holding firm as James squeezed tight. "I just need a few minutes," James said in a subdued voice. "And maybe a shower."

Steve ran his thumb over the back of James' hand. It was oddly reassuring for such a small gesture. "We can hold off on dinner until you're ready."

James shook his head. "I don't want to keep the kids from eating on time."

"They'd rather eat with you there."

"I might be a few minutes."

"We could start with the salads? That would give you about twenty minutes before the kids get antsy."

James breathed out through his nose. Twenty minutes. That would be long enough for a shower and getting dressed again. Hopefully, it would also give him time enough to pull himself together.

James gave Steve's hand one last squeeze. "I can do twenty minutes."

The small smile that spread over Steve's face was like coming home. "Anything you need," he said. "Just let me know."

James stood, then leaned back to haul Steve to his feet. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Okay." Steve touched James' arm, a gentle brush of the fingers, then headed out of the room.

Once he was gone, James let out a long breath. Okay. He had to pull his shit together, especially with Steve's father in the house. He'd shower, dress, and go down to dinner like he wasn't a complete basket case.

That should be easy.

James hauled his ass to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He stripped out of his trousers and underwear, got into the shower and turned on the taps full-blast before reaching for the soap. With the heat of the day, he let the water run a little cold; it wasn't great for getting clean, but it helped clear James' head. Maybe Natasha had the right idea about the sprinkler; if it was still hot after dinner maybe the kids could end their day with a run around outside before Steve and Clint headed back to their place with Abraham.

James stuck his head under the shower spray. He hoped that Abraham wouldn't notice that anything was wrong with him. He wanted Steve's dad to like him, at least enough to support their relationship. James knew how much Abraham meant to Steve.

He opened his mouth, rinsed with the tepid water, then spat. He had to get moving. The kids wouldn't be satisfied with salad for long, and James didn't want them seeing anything wrong with him. His problems were just that – his; neither Natasha nor Clint needed his problems to come down on them.

With a final swipe of the hand to get the last soap suds off, James turned off the shower. It only took a few moments to dry off and head out into the hallway with a towel around his hips. He could hear the voices from the main floor in quiet conversation, or at least as quiet as the two children could ever manage. So far, so good.

Once in his room, James shut the door, dropped everything into the hamper, and went for his dresser. He wasn't about to put the arm back on, not even if it made things weird with Abraham. The man was a doctor, James reasoned, and probably wouldn't be offended by James' one-armed state.

James dressed in a polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. He knew he looked like a lopsided ad for the Gap, but the clothes were clean and presentable, and most importantly with the amount of barbecue sauce Steve always used on the chicken, machine washable.

"Daddy," Natasha's voice drifted through the door, followed by a tiny _rat-a-tat-tat_. "Daddy, I'm hungry." Tiny fingers curled under the door to wiggle in his direction.

James pushed his hair back, then gave his cheeks a light slap to focus. "I'm coming, sweet pea."

Opening the door carefully, James found his daughter smiling up at him. "Daddy, come on!" she exclaimed, bouncing to her feet. "Steve said we gotta wait to eat the chicken 'til you come and I'm so _hungry_!"

"What about all those salads we made?" James asked as he reached down to pick Natasha up.

"Salad isn't food," Natasha said dismissively as she wrapped her arms around James' neck. "It's just crunchy."

James kissed Natasha's hair, taking a moment to centre himself. His daughter was safe.

"Daaaaaddy," Natasha said into his ear. "I'm hungry! Time for chicken!"

"Anything you say," James said as he fought down a wave of baseless panic. Natasha was safe. James would keep her that way. "I'm hungry too."

"Okay, let's go!"

They made their way downstairs and into the kitchen, where Steve was just pulling a covered platter out from the oven while Clint gnawed noisily on a celery stick.

"Daddy's here!" Natasha exclaimed as she wiggled to the floor. "We can eat now!"

"Yay!" Clint cheered, abandoning his celery stick. "James, you can sit by me!"

"Why, thank you," James said as he went to the empty chair between Clint and Steve. "I hope you all liked your salads."

"Yes, I did," Clint said primly as he patted his belly. "Now I want chicken!"

"Chicken!" Natasha echoed, both hands going up in a cheer.

 At her side, Abraham chuckled. "I am told this is very special chicken," he said to James, not batting an eyelash at James' lack of an arm.

"Super special." James pulled his napkin onto his lap. "Bit of garlic, bit of pepper, lots of sauce."

"Daddy," Natasha scolded as Steve uncovered the platter of chicken. "You are leaving out the best part!"

James blinked at his daughter. "What's the best part."

Natasha harrumphed. "The part where I helped!"

Steve turned his head to hide his smile from the girl, but Clint was beaming at his friend. "Natasha, you are so much a good cook," Clint said admiringly. "One day I will cook as good as you."

"That day can be tomorrow," Natasha said, holding out her plate for a piece of chicken. "Steve said we're having hamburgers. We can both squish them up!"

"Okay!" Clint exclaimed, punching the air. "Grandpa Abraham, you can have a hamburger tomorrow that I make!"

"I look forward to it," Abraham said, accepting a chicken leg from Steve. "Why, this does smell delicious."

Natasha glowed.

James watched his daughter as he started serving the vegetables out onto plates. She was healthy and just shining with happiness, and some of the ice in James' gut started to thaw.

She was okay.

James caught Steve staring at him from across the table, and the smile James cast his way didn't feel forced at all. Steve smiled back, like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

Turning back to the conversation between the children and Abraham, James tucked into his dinner.

At that moment in time, things were all right. James had to hold onto that.

* * *

At eleven-thirty, James was just taking the last dish out of the dishwasher. Natasha had been in bed since nine, late for her, but the day's excitements had kept her up past her bedtime.

Steve, Clint and Abraham had left for Steve's place a little after seven, with a promise to be there the next day by noon. To make up for the changed dinner plans, Steve had promised to take everyone out for lunch at a shawarma place he'd found the month before.

All in all, it wasn't the worst end to a day James had ever had.

Once the dishes were put away, James padded upstairs to check on Natasha. The girl was fast asleep, Bear clutched in her arms. James stood in the doorway for a few minutes, watching her sleep. For all the worries he'd had that day, Natasha was safe in her bed, healthy and hopefully dreaming of nice things.

Natasha was safe.

James stepped into the room to straighten Natasha's blanket, then went back downstairs. Natasha was asleep, the house was clean and tidy, so James could go to bed at any time.

Instead, he sat on the couch. He could watch some television, but even that didn't interest him. So he sat in the silent room, dimly lit by the lights from the kitchen. Maybe he could just sit here until he passed out.

In the kitchen, his phone rang. James was on his feet in an instant, moving towards the kitchen. Who the hell could be calling him at midnight?

In the kitchen, he grabbed his phone off the counter. Steve's picture was on the call display, sending James' heart for a sickening drop in his chest. Oh god, had something happen to Clint?

James tapped the screen "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"What?" Steve sounded startled. "Nothing's wrong, are you okay?"

James leaned against the counter, almost weak with relief. "You called me at fucking midnight, Steve," he breathed out. "How's I supposed to know nothing's wrong?"

"Sorry." There was the sound of a car's motor behind Steve's voice. "I just really needed to talk to you."

"Okay." James' heartbeat was slowing to something resembling normal. "What's up? Where are you?"

"I'm out for a walk," Steve said. "Clint's sleeping and I didn't want to bug my dad, so I'm heading over to the donut shop for a coffee or something."

"Okay, but _why_?"

Steve sighed into the phone. "I think I fucked up today."

"With Sharon?" James asked as he made his way over to the table, collapsing into one of the chairs. "I don't think so, it'll be good for Clint to see her tomorrow."

"No, not with Sharon," Steve said. "With you."

"Me?" James repeated. What was Steve talking about?

"You said something, this afternoon, that I didn't get at first, but after I got home, I got to thinking." Steve coughed. "You, uh, you make plans a lot."

James frowned at the tabletop. "Everyone makes plans."

"I don't mean like that." Steve paused for a long moment. "I mean, like, you've got plans and routines and stuff for everything."

"Yeah, everyone does that."

"Not like you."

James slipped down in the chair. This conversation was making him tired. "Steve, will you just say what you wanna say?"

The other end of the line was quiet for a time, with faint background noises of cars and footsteps. "Fine," Steve eventually said. "I think that sometimes, when I do things that mess with your plans, you get a little…" He trailed off.

"A little _what_ , Steve?"

"It messes with you," Steve said. "You get on edge and stuff."

"I got it handled," James said sharply. "I can handle my own shit, okay?"

"That's not what I mean, Bucky!" Steve exclaimed. "What I'm trying to say is... shit, I'm fucking this all up."

James took the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker, so he could let the phone slip to the table and put his hand over his eyes. "Steve, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I'm sorry," Steve said. James didn't know what to do with this information; thankfully, Steve kept talking. "I'm sorry I mess with your plans and I'm sorry I ain't seen how that gets to you, before now. I'm going to do better by you."

James took his hand away from his eyes. "Steve, you don't have to do anything," he said. His voice sounded rough and he didn't know why. "I told you, this shit I go through, I can handle it."

"Damnit, Bucky, you shouldn't have to handle anything, not when I'm the one messing up in the first place!" Steve was breathing hard. "You have no idea how much I appreciate all the shit you do for me. I'm a mess half the time and you always just step in and fix stuff. You've always been like this, even when we was kids."

"You're not a mess," James said. He had wrapped his arm across his chest and was hunching forward, head bowed over the phone. "Like I been telling you, you're doing fine."

"It doesn't feel like it." Steve's voice was softer now, intimate, like he was in the same room as James, not all the way across the city. "When I fuck up with Clint, and with Sharon, you're always there to make it okay."

"You're not fucking up with them," James said. "At least not with Clint. I'm not getting involved with you and Sharon."

"I know."

James took a deep breath. "Look, Steve, whatever's going on with me, you don't have to worry about it, okay? I told you a hundred times, I been telling you since we was kids, I can handle myself."

"I know you can. I'm trying to tell you that I don't want to be the reason that you have to."

James put his forehead on the table. "Steve…"

"I've been in a few relationships over the years, you know?" Steve said when James didn't continue. "I'm more used to people telling me when I'm fucking up than I am in seeing it for myself." There was a pause. "Actually, maybe that's why those relationships fell apart, you know?"

"So you don't want me telling you if you fuck up?" James said, aiming for a joke but it fell flat.

"No, I want you to," Steve said with an obscene amount of enthusiasm for this time of night. "But I'm going to try to make sure I work on paying closer attention to things, too. You're important to me, Bucky, so important."

James pushed his hair back from his forehead. His guts were churning with emotion, and he wasn't quite sure if he was happy or sad or what. "You're important to me too, you jerk."

Steve laughed, a wild exuberant sound. "I'm going to make this work, you and me. I'm with you forever, I want you to know that."

 _Forever._ A long time ago, Steve and James had promised that they would be best friends forever. They'd taken some hits over the years, but they'd found their way back to each other.

James never wanted to let Steve go.

He cleared his throat. "Me too," he said. "I'm with you forever."

"Good."

"But you gotta do the same thing with me." James' voice was coming more firmly now. "If I do shit that fucks with you, you gotta tell me."

"I will," Steve promised. There was a moment of silence between them. "You know, I kinda wish that I was staying over with you tonight."

"That would be a little awkward with your dad," James pointed out. Steve laughed again. "You and Clint should sleep over the night before school starts. It'll be easier on him, not having to spend all that time on the train from your place in the morning."

"Well, with all the talking he did about Mr. Logan and their classroom visit this week, I don't think Clint's going to get any sleep," Steve said teasingly. "But yeah, if you want to listen to me getting up every ten minutes to put him back to bed, sure thing."

"I can't wait," James said, feeling warm from his head down to his toes. "When you and me, we're in bed together, it ain't all that bad."

"No, it isn't." Steve sighed. "But we need to get through this weekend first."

"One day at a time," James agreed.

"Are you really okay with Sharon coming over for dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah," James said. "I got the stuff for dinner, the kids are excited about helping to cook, it's all good. And it'll do Clint good to see his mom for a bit."

"I think so, especially before school starts," Steve said. "And Abraham likes her, they should catch up."

James raised his eyebrows at this. "Did he ever think that, you know, you and Sharon should get married for Clint's sake or anything?"

"No," Steve said quickly. "He knows we never had that kind of relationship. He thought it was a little weird how we lived together after Clint was born, given everything, but he likes her. The only person who thought Sharon and I should stick together was my sister Sally."

"Well, she won't be at dinner tomorrow," James said. "So the plan for tomorrow, you guys'll be here at noon, and then we're off for lunch? What's after that?"

As they talked through their Saturday itinerary, the icy ball of dread that had been following James around all day finally started to melt. Steve was okay, and while James was a long way away from fine, he could at least see it on the horizon. As long as he had Steve, and they could talk things out…

Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.


	29. Ornithology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: Ornithology by Sonny Stitt <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ntljp1CR7I>
> 
> Note: this chapter includes a brief past discussion of schoolyard bullying and physical fights between children of a similar age, one in response to the use of gay slurs.

* * *

The doorbell sounded at around three o'clock on Saturday.

James, making another pot of coffee in the kitchen, glanced out back to make sure the children were still occupied with the sprinkler before heading to the living room. Glancing through the glass doors, he could see Sharon standing on the front steps, holding what looked like a cake box.

"Hey," James said as he pushed open the outer door. "Glad you could make it."

"Thanks for the invitation," Sharon said. She came into the house, standing awkwardly in the hall while James locked the front doors again. "Where can I put this?"

"There's a bit of room left in the fridge." James headed back to the kitchen, cursing inwardly at the messy state of the living room. He hadn't had a chance to tidy up after the children's morning whirlwind.

James push that thought back. Sharon was a parent, she knew how kids were. She'd especially know how messy Clint could be when he was having fun.

"I also have some sorbet," Sharon was saying as they entered the kitchen. "The cake has dairy in it, and I didn't know what was for dinner so I got something for Abraham."

"That's a good idea," James said. Why hadn't he thought about dessert? "We got hamburgers, salads and stuff. Nothing fancy."

"Well." Sharon eased the cake box onto the counter. "I am always up for a good cheeseburger."

"Hang on a sec." James pulled open the fridge door, to move things out of the way for the treats. "Kids are out back if you want to go say hi."

"I will in a minute. I wanted to talk to you first."

Head still in the refrigerator, James let out a sigh. How the hell he let Steve talk him into these things, he didn't know. "Yeah, about what?"

"About Clint, when he's here."

James stepped back, reaching for the cake box. It was a challenge to balance the bottom on his prosthetic hand. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Sharon took a deep breath. "It's about safety."

James slid the box onto the shelf. "Safety?" he echoed. "Steve and Abraham are out back with the kids, things should be fine."

"No, that's not…" Sharon shook her head. "I'm doing this all wrong."

"Pass me that ice cream." James held out his hand for the small plastic bag, and Sharon handed it over. "The house is old, but it's safe for the kids."

He forbore from mentioning Clint's little excursion out the bathroom window in the first part of the summer; if Steve wanted to bring that up with Sharon, he could do so.

"It's not about the house," Sharon said while James was shoving the sorbet containers into the freezer. "When Clint stayed over with me last weekend, he talked about you a lot. He likes you."

James shut the freezer door and turned around. Sharon was leaning on the island, looking very put together with her perfect hair and her light-blue sundress. James, on the other hand, probably looked like a hobo who had been dragged backwards through a hedge.

 _Stop it_ , James told himself firmly. "I like Clint a lot, too," he said.

Sharon smiled, and it took some of the worry out of her expression. "Clint tells me that you used to be in the Army."

"Rangers," James said. He had no idea where this was going. "Oh-one to oh-nine."

Sharon ran her hand along the edge of the counter. "Do you keep any guns in the house?"

James stared for a moment. If anyone should be asking about guns in the house, it was him, after Sharon had brought a pistol into his house concealed under her blazer, that first time she'd come to see Clint.

Still. It was a legitimate concern for Sharon to raise. "A few," he said. "They're in the gun safe upstairs. Ammo's in a separate safe in the basement. The kids can't get into either one."

Sharon gave a nod. "Can I ask what kind of safe?"

James rattled off the make and model number. "I can show it to you, if you want."

"Yes," Sharon said immediately. "I would."

"Sure, just a sec." James pulled out his phone and sent a quick text off to Steve in the backyard. _Sharon here im gonna show her the gun safe then well come outsid_

Pocketing his phone, James ushered Sharon back into the living room, then up the stairs. "Thanks for this," Sharon said as they reached the second floor. "I know Steve's probably got this covered, but it's for my own peace of mind."

"I get it." James pushed open his bedroom door. "I, uh, I saw you were carrying concealed that one time."

"Ah." Sharon paused in the middle of the room while James headed into the closet. "Yeah. Well, real estate can be a dangerous business for women."

"Yeah, I know the statistics." James moved the ironing board out of the way, then stood back to let Sharon see the gun safe built into the wall.

"Oh, nice," Sharon breathed, coming closer to inspect the safe. "You got the model with the fingerprint scanner."

"Top of the line," James said. While Sharon's attention was on the safe, he could kick the underwear lying on the ground underneath the bed, out of sight. "Nat was super curious when she was little. She knows not to touch guns now, but… kids, you know."

"I hear you." Sharon rapped on the safe door, nodding appreciatively at the sound.

James waited until Sharon had backed out of the closet before asking, "That hotel you're staying at? They got a place you can lock up at?"

"They do, but now that I have an office, I can lock my sidearm there after-hours."

"That's handy," James said, putting his hand on the bedroom door. Sharon took the hint, and headed back for the stairs. James took one last look around the room before following her.

On the way down, Sharon asked James what he had meant about 'statistics', so James told her about Winterhill Security Consulting and Maria. Sharon mentioned that her company was always looking for security consultant for their real estate clients, so James swung into his office to retrieve a business card.

"Might be worth calling Maria on that stuff," James said as he returned to the kitchen. He plucked a pen from the junk drawer to write his partner's phone number on the back of the card. "She's better at the consulting piece. I just stand around and look like I know what I'm doing."

Sharon took the card from James. "I doubt that's true," she said as she slipped the card into her purse. "Steve speaks very highly of you."

James hesitated. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to have this conversation with Steve's ex now, or ever, but he also wasn't sure how to get out of it. "Yeah, well, Steve's a smart guy. You want some coffee?"

"Yes, thanks." Sharon waited until James was putting a mug of coffee in front of her before saying, "Steve is a good judge of character, especially when it comes to people who are around Clint a lot."

James poured coffee into his favourite mug, then set the carafe back in its place. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of maternal warning talk or if Sharon was just trying to be nice. "You don't have to tell me about Steve," James said. "He's always been the guy to say what he thinks. I always know where I stand with Steve."

A small smile spread over Sharon's face. "That is a very good way to describe Steve Rogers." She took a fortifying sip of coffee. "All right, I think I'll head outside now."

"Not if you want to keep that dress of yours dry." James slurped at his coffee. "The kids are all wet. I got your twelve o'clock with a towel."

"I learned my lesson years ago with Clint," Sharon said while James retrieved a dishtowel from the cupboard. "Never wear anything around him that isn't machine washable. He's always been a bit of a chaos monster."

"Yeah, well, now he's a chaos monster with a longer reach." James opened the back door and called, "Hey, guess who's here?"

In the sprinkler's spray, Clint spun around, nearly falling over. "Mommy!" he shrieked, and ran dripping wet towards the stairs.

Steve caught Clint mid-flight with a bath towel, wrapping it around his body, but nothing would stop Clint. The boy kept moving, bumping into James before ricocheting off to crash into Sharon. James gave Clint's wet hair a few swipes with the dishtowel as the boy hugged his mother tight.

"Mommy!" Clint exclaimed.

"Hi there," Sharon replied, giving Clint a big hug. "Have you been having a fun time with Natasha and your grandfather?"

"Yes!" While Clint pulled back to talk excited to his mother, James walked down the steps to the grass. Natasha was standing stock still in the sprinkler's spray, hands clenched, glaring daggers at Sharon.

James paused where Steve was helping Abraham to his feet. "There's coffee in the kitchen if you want any," he told the other men. "Feel free to head on it, I'm going to try to head this off at the pass."

Abraham patted James' arm. "Best of luck," he said consolingly before he walked up the steps.

Steve lingered by James for a moment. "Is everything cool?" Steve asked. "Why did Sharon want to see the gun safe?"

James shrugged his right shoulder. "Clint mentioned to her that I was in the Army and she wanted to make sure he was safe when he was here."

Steve clenched his jaw. "She doesn't think that I'd think of that?"

James looked at Steve for a moment. "I think she thinks more about guns that you do, so she'd want to make sure." He stepped away. "I gotta deal with my kid, do what you want."

James moved to the side of the house to turn off the sprinkler, then went to get Natasha's towel. He unfolded it and knelt down.

"Nat, honey, can you come here please?"

Natasha stalked across the grass, only looking at James once Sharon had carried Clint into the house. She walked straight into the open towel, letting James wrap her up like a burrito.

"Did you have fun in the sprinkler today?"

Natasha leaned against James, her wet hair soaking through his shirt. "I was until _she_ got here."

"Natasha, we talked about this."

Natasha sniffled. "Why does Clint's mommy have to come here _all the time_?"

Privately, James was wondering the same thing, but that was nothing to talk to a child about. "Because Sharon is friends with Abraham and Steve invited her over for dinner so we could all have a nice dinner together and spend time together."

Natasha muttered something indistinct.

"Can you repeat that?"

Natasha wiped her nose on James' shoulder. "Do I _have_ to spend time with her?"

"Absolutely not," James said firmly. "You don't have to spend time with anyone you don't want to. But you do need to behave politely towards her."

Natasha looked down. "I don't know what that means."

James sighed. "Oh, yes you do. Come on, get ready for up." He put his right arm around Natasha's legs and waited for her to put her arms around his neck before standing, picking Natasha up with him. "Being polite means saying please and thank you, and not hitting or kicking anyone."

"I know _that_ , Daddy," Natasha said.

"It also means no being mean."

To this, Natasha was suspiciously silent.

"Natasha."

Natasha sighed. "I won't be mean."

"Good." James kissed the top of Natasha's head. "But if you ever feel like you're having a rough time, you come sit with me and we can hang out together."

Natasha squeezed James' neck. "Okay."

James carried his daughter into the house. Abraham and Sharon were in the kitchen, talking as Abraham poured sugar into this coffee. Sharon caught sight of James and Natasha first. "Steve went up with Clint to get him out of his bathing suit," she said. "Hi, Natasha."

Natasha clutched at James' neck and said nothing.

"Natasha, being polite means saying hello when someone says hello to you."

Natasha let out an almost inaudible growl. "Hello."

"And we're going to get Natasha changed," James said. "Be down in a few."

James headed off. When he got to the stairs, he set Natasha on her feet. She wiggled free of the towel. "Daddy, why'd I gotta be polite?" she demanded as she stamped up the steps.

"Because Sharon is a guest in our home," James said. "When someone is our guest, we are polite to them."

"I don't like her."

"You don't have to like someone to be polite to them," James said. "That's one of the hard things about growing up. Sometimes we have to be polite to people we don't like."

Natasha swung her arms menacingly.

"Are you pretending to be a gorilla?"

"Yes!" Natasha stomped and swung her arms some more. "A big gorilla. Like King Kong!"

At this moment, Clint and Steve emerged from Clint's bedroom, with Clint dressed in fresh clothes and wearing his glasses and hearing aid. The boy beamed at Natasha. "I'm going to go talk to my mommy!" he exclaimed, then dashed for the stairs.

Natasha glared after her friend, then growled as she gorilla-walked to her bedroom.

James sighed. It was only three-thirty, and he was ready for a nap.

"Bucky?" Steve said. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Huh?"

"About the gun safe." Steve pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "And Sharon. I just…"

James waited.

"I think I'm being more defensive about Sharon coming back into our lives than I need to be."

"You think?"

"Bucky."

James shook his head. "Look, like I told you yesterday, I'm with you forever, all right? I'm on your side, you and Clint, and that means that Sharon is going to be in our lives a bit. I'm okay with her looking out for Clint, and I think you should be too."

"I am." Steve put his hand on James' wrist. "I am okay with that."

"So what's the stick up your butt on this?"

Steve looked down at James' collar. "I've been trying really hard with Clint, you know, being on my own so long."

James turned slightly, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Steve returned the embrace, breathing against James' cheek. In spite of all the chaos of the last few days, James felt himself relax. "Listen up, all right?" James said quietly. "You're doing awesome with Clint. You've raised a happy little kid, you're doing all the right things with him."

"I know," Steve muttered. "That's what Abraham keeps saying."

"So listen to your dad, all right?"

Steve breathed out. "You remember how I said, back a while ago, that Sharon not being here wasn't a big deal or anything?"

James ran his hand up and down Steve's back in reassurance. "Yeah."

"Maybe…" Steve turned his head against James' neck. "Now that she's back, I'm starting to think that maybe it was a big deal."

James kissed Steve's cheek. "It's hard, raising a kid on your own."

Steve tightened the hug for a moment, then pulled back. He blinked a few times, then leaned in to kiss James, a brief touch of lips that sent happy shivers down James' spine. "You're one to talk."

"Hey, I ain't just talking out my ass on this one." James ruffled Steve's hair, making the other man move back in mock protest. "Why don't you go make sure that my kitchen is still standing, and I'll make sure my kid isn't in there plotting Sharon's demise."

Steve smiled, visibly calmer than he had been all morning. "Good luck with that."

James elbowed Steve in the ribs on the way past. "Cut up some orange slices for the kids, will ya?" he called as a parting shot as he headed to Natasha's bedroom. Steve chuckled as he went downstairs.

James paused in the doorway. Natasha had taken off her bathing suit, leaving it in a damp pile on the floor, and was standing in her closet, a blanket draped over her shoulders as she stared gloomily at her wardrobe.

"What's the plan, Stan?"

Natasha turned to scowl at her father. "I am not _Stan_ , I am _Natasha_ ," she pointed out. "I want to wear my princess dress."

"That's one option." James slumped into the armchair. "Or you could wear your polka-dot sundress, that's a lot less scratchy."

Natasha considered this. "Can I wear my green underwear?"

"Of course."

"And can I wear my blue butterfly barrettes?"

"Sure." James heaved himself to his feet. "I'll go get the brush, okay?"

"Yes, Daddy."

James picked up Natasha's bathing suit on his way to the bathroom. He hung it by one strap in the tub beside Clint's swim trunks. He then picked up Natasha's brush from the shelf, making the mistake to glance at his reflection. With the bags under his eyes and the five o'clock shadow, James wondered what the hell Steve saw in him.

James turned to head back to Natasha's room. Like Steve said, raising a kid alone was hard on a guy.

By the time he returned, Natasha was dressed, holding her barrettes. She jumped up when he entered the room. "You took a long time," Natasha informed James. "Make me pretty."

"Natasha, you are always pretty," James said. He sat in the armchair and waited until Natasha was standing at the ready before gently brushing out her hair. "You are pretty on the outside and you are pretty on the inside."

"How can I be pretty on the inside?" Natasha demanded, turning to eye him skeptically. "On the inside, it is dark."

James stopped and stared. "Huh?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Inside me." She pointed at her belly. "It's dark. I cannot be pretty in the dark."

James blinked. "Let's finish your hair," he said. Natasha obediently turned around. It took James a few minutes to get Natasha's hair to a state she was pleased with, then he popped in the barrettes and stood back to let Natasha look at herself in the mirror.

Natasha preened. "Daddy," she said, twirling her skirt. "Am I prettier than Clint's mom?"

James, who had been about to stand up, collapsed back into the armchair. "Crap," he muttered. "Nat, honey, come here."

Natasha gave one last twirl in front of the mirror before bounding across the room to jump up into James' lap. "Am I?" she asked again.

"Natasha, we have to have a serious talk," James said. He wished he had at least had some warning so he could have prepared for this conversation, but, like most parenting, he was going to have to make this up as he went along.

"About what?"

"About…" What had Maria called it that one time? "About weaponized femininity."

Natasha looked puzzled. "What's that?"

"It's…" James rubbed his eyes. "Look, I'm gonna talk straight, and if you don't understand, tell me and I'll try again."

"Okay."

"Right." James ran his hand over his face. Jesus Christ, he had no idea what to say. He'd just have to wing it and hope he didn't mess his kid up too badly. "So, when you asked me if you're prettier than Sharon."

"Am I?" Natasha perked up. "I want to be. So Clint will look at me and not her."

James wanted to swear. "Honey, one of the most important lessons in life that we learn is that people like us because of who we are as people, not what we look like."

Natasha stared.

"And Clint likes you because you're Natasha, not because you look any particular way."

Natasha's eyes were beginning to narrow.

"Just like you like Clint," James went on desperately. "You like him because he is a nice boy, and he is funny, and smart, and you guys have the same interests, and you play well together."

"Yes, that is why I like Clint," Natasha said. "Also because we like the same stuff, like dinosaurs and water parks."

"Yes, I know." James took a deep breath. "Would you like Clint any different if he looked any different?"

"No," Natasha said impatiently. "Daddy, that's silly."

James nodded. "So you understand that Clint likes you just the way you are, not because of how you look."

"Uh huh."

"He likes you because you are his best friend," James went on. "And he likes Steve because Steve is his dad."

Natasha began to fidget.

"And Clint likes his mother because she is his mother." James watched Natasha closely. "And I am going to guess that you like me because I'm your dad."

"No."

James raised his eyebrows. "No?"

"No, Daddy, I do not like you."

James' stomach dropped.

"I love you because you are my daddy," Natasha corrected, and James felt relief surge through him.

"Okay, that's good." James pulled Natasha into a hug. "I love you too."

"Good!"

"Yes." James gave Natasha a gently shake. "And how you feel about me, that's how Clint feels about his mom. You don't love me any more or less because Clint is your friend, right?"

"No," Natasha said. She poked at his shirt buttons. "But Daddy, you're wrong. Clint is not my friend, he is my _best friend_."

"I know." James kissed Natasha on the cheek. "And you're his best friend, that's never going to change."

"Good."

"Can I say something else about being pretty?"

Natasha shrugged.

"I don't want you thinking about being prettier than other people, okay? You can want to be pretty yourself, like wearing nice clothes and doing your hair nice. But don't compare yourself to other people."

Natasha sat up to look James in the eye. "But what if I want to?"

"Natasha…" James sighed. "When we compare ourselves to other people, all we're doing is passing the buck on ourselves."

Natasha's face screwed up in confusion. "What?"

"Like, okay, maybe I think to myself, Steve is a handsome guy."

"He is," Natasha said quickly.

"See? We agree on that. But if I start thinking that Steve is a handsomer guy than me, then that makes me feel bad. Not 'cause of Steve, but because I feel like I'm ugly."

Natasha pondered this for a moment. "You are not ugly, Daddy," she said finally. "So you shouldn't feel bad. But Steve _is_ handsomer than you are."

James supposed he had set himself up for that one. "Thanks."

"But you are pretty too," Natasha said loyally.

"Exactly." James held his hand up for a fist bump. "Don't go making other people a competition. Other people are people, just like you're a person, and everyone has feelings and stuff. Just like you."

Natasha bumped his fist, then opened her palm for a high five. "Because everyone is a person with feelings."

"Yes."

"What if someone is mean to me?"

James set Natasha on her feet. "They're still a person with feelings, but if someone's mean to you, you don't have to spend time around them, and you don't have to take it."

"So what do I do?"

"The same thing we talked about before when someone's mean to you." James stood, holding out his hand. Natasha took it. "You tell them to stop, or you walk away from them. And why is that?"

Natasha sighed theatrically. "Because being mean is _wrong_ ," she recited.

"Good job." Father and daughter walked together to the stairs. "Good talk, Natasha. You're getting really grown up."

"Being grown up is _hard_ ," Natasha bemoaned.

"Tell me about it," James replied. "You think you got it tough, I've had to be a grown-up for way more years than you ever been alive."

"That's because you are _old_ ," Natasha pointed out. She let go of James' hand to hold the banister on the way down.

James caught Natasha before she ran into the kitchen. "Nat, can we talk about Sharon for a minute?"

Natasha nodded grudgingly.

"Okay. I said you need to be polite, but if you ever want to take a break today, you and me can take a break together."

Natasha twisted in place. "When is she going to leave?"

"After dinner," James said. Hell, if it looked like there was going to be any additional Rogers' family bonding, James would tell Steve to pack everyone up and head back to his place with it. "It's nearly four now. We're eating dinner at five, okay?"

"Okay." Natasha took James' hand again, and it was a subdued little girl who accompanied James into the kitchen.

Clint was in his element. He was holding the attention of his mother and grandfather, telling stories and asking questions as he coloured patterns on construction paper. When Natasha approached, Clint pulled her up onto his chair so they could colour together, but most of his attention was on his mother.

Natasha coloured grimly.

James joined Steve at the counter, where the other man was slicing apples and oranges. "How did things go?" Steve asked quietly.

"Nat's working on her jealousy issues," James replied in the same low tone. "She told me she wanted to be prettier than Sharon."

Steve layered the fruit slices into a small container. "What did you tell her?"

"That beauty is not something to be weaponized."

Steve stopped what he was doing to stare at James, aghast. "You did not."

"Not like that, I didn't." James kicked Steve in the ankle. "Don't look at me like that, you're not raising a little girl."

"That's one hell of a conversation to have with a kid," Steve said, going back to his cutting board.

"Like the talks about bullying are any easier."

"Yeah." Steve put the lid on the container of fruit. "I'll just give this a wash."

"Thanks." James looked over at the table. Clint was laughing at something Abraham had said, but Natasha was still grimly colouring. Sharon caught James' eyes and opened her hand in a question, but James could only shrug back at her.

He wasn't about to force his daughter to pretend she liked Sharon, and he also wasn't going to make her do something she didn't want, as long as she was polite about it.

Abraham tried to engage Natasha in the conversation, but she just shook her head. Her "Excuse me" was audible across the kitchen, as she took her piece of conduction paper and slipped off the chair, carrying it over to James. "Daddy, I want to make a break," she said in a stage whisper.

"Sure thing." James waited as Natasha put her artwork on the fridge, then picked her up. "We'll be around," James said in an undertone to Steve, who nodded. Only then did James carry Natasha out into the living room.

"I wanna go up to my room," Natasha said.

"Okay." James headed for the stairs. "Thank you for being polite to Sharon just now."

"It was hard," Natasha confessed. "Clint didn't want to talk to me and I felt sad."

"Clint's excited that his mom and Grandpa Abraham are here."

"I still feel sad."

James put his prosthetic on Natasha's back to keep her balanced. "Talking about your feelings and understanding them is a very good thing to do," he said. "When I was your age, I didn't know how to talk about my feelings."

"Down." James set Natasha on the floor, and she headed for her bedroom. "How come you didn't know?"

"My family didn't talk about feelings." James followed Natasha. "And then I went into the Army and no one talked about feelings there."

"That sounds bad," Natasha said. She went to her bed and hopped up on it. "If I didn't talk about how I feel, I would feel badder."

James smoothed a strand of hair back on Natasha's forehead. "How did I get so lucky to have such a smart kid?"

Natasha shrugged. "I guess I was born this way." She looked around the room. "Daddy, I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"I want to build a fort."

"A fort?" James echoed.

"Yeah," Natasha said, warming to her topic. "A blanket fort. A super secret blanket fort! Where there are…" She slid off the bed and struck a superhero pose. "No grown-ups allowed!"

"Hey, you came to the right guy," James said. "I been working construction since I was twelve years old."

Natasha pointed imperiously to the hallway. "Bring me blankets!"

James went to the linen closest to get an armful of sheets. Maybe if he kept Natasha occupied with her latest idea, she would burn off some energy before dinner. Then James would just have to keep her from kicking anyone over the meal.

When James returned to Natasha's room, he found that his daughter had pushed the armchair over to the wall across from her bed. "Daddy!" Natasha exclaimed. "This is where the fort will go!"

James dropped his armful onto the bed. "Yes, ma'am!" He snapped to attention and gave a proper salute. Natasha giggled. "Ready for your instruction, ma'am!"

With several "Put it there," and even more, "No, that's wrong!" James managed to arrange most of the sheets to Natasha's satisfaction. He stood back while Natasha pulled aside the entrance cover with solemnity, and crawled inside.

"How does it all look?" James asked.

"It's perfect."

"Can I take a peek?"

Natasha appeared in the entranceway to glare at James. "No!" she cried. "This is _my_ fort! No grown-ups allowed!"

"So I can help you build it, but I can't come in?"

"No!"

"Fine. You want me to get you a book or anything?"

Natasha hesitated. "Yes, please," she said in a normal voice.

Plucking a few of Natasha's picture books off the shelf, James handed them into the fort.

"Thank you, Daddy. Now go away."

"You're welcome. You can come down whenever you want, okay? Or else I'll come get you when it's dinner time."

"Go away, _please!_ "

James headed downstairs. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, just to take things in. Clint was still at the table, focused more on drawing, while Steve sat beside him, answering questions, while Sharon watching them both.

For a sudden, terrible moment, James wondered what the hell he had been thinking, in imagining that he would really be able to make a place in Steve's life.

He loved Steve so much, but was he _enough?_

The spell was broken when Abraham shuffled across the kitchen. "Ah, how is little Natasha?" he asked. Clint looked up at the question, his eyes eager.

"Nat's fine," James said. "She needed a little break, so she's upstairs hiding in her super-secret blanket fort."

Clint's stunned gasp was loud in the room. "A super-secret blanket fort!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," James said. "And guess what? In this super-secret blanket fort, there are no grown-ups allowed."

"No grown-ups allowed!" Clint's excited screech was nearly supersonic. "I gotta go!"

Clint nearly fell in his haste to get to the floor. Steve caught him and put him on his feet, cautioning him to be careful, but Clint didn't appear to hear his father.

"Natasha, I'm coming!" Clint yelled at the ceiling. "Wait for me!"

"Hang on," James said, diving for Clint. "Take up a snack with you." He shoved the little container of fruit slices into Clint's arms.

"Natasha, I'm coming!" Clint called again, pounding a path to the stairs. "I wanna go play in the blanket fort!"

James waited, listening, as Clint's footsteps sounded up the stairs and overhead, but there was no outraged screaming or crying, so James assumed that the children were going to be able to get along.

Steve sat up in his chair, groaning as he let his head fall back. "Kids."

James waved his hand. "They're fine. Just figuring out how to grow up, I guess."

"I have no doubt that you two were the same way," Abraham said with a smile.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I was a very respectable young man," James said. He headed over to the fridge to pull out the burger patties. "Steve Rogers walked into my life on the first day of second grade bringing nothing but trouble with him."

Sharon smiled at James. "Did he get into a fight with you?" she asked, ignoring Steve's embarrassed groan.

"Nah. It was his first day in the new school and one of the other kids—"

"Billy Perkins," Steve put in.

"Yeah, Billy, he goes up to Steve, who's this high," and James made a motion to indicate that Steve had been very short indeed, "And starts picking on his because of his second-hand clothes."

"Fourth-hand," Steve muttered.

"And so Steve, who ain't never backed down from anyone in his life, not even bullies who are like twice as tall as him, gets right in Billy's face and tells him where he can shove his opinions."

Abraham shook his head. Sharon put her chin into her hand. "Steve, did you punch a bully on your first day at a new school?" she asked patiently.

"Nah," James said before Steve could protest. " _I_ punched a bully on Steve's first day of school." He set the burger platter on the counter. "Steve just kicked him when Billy knocked me down."

"He had it coming," Steve said, unperturbed. "And me and Bucky've been friends ever since."

Sharon smiled. "Good."

Abraham was still shaking his head. "I don't like to hear of you fighting," he said. "I worry about you."

"Did Steve get into fights in New Jersey?" James asked, going back to the fridge for salad fixings.

"Ah, don't tell them that story," Steve said, but Abraham ignored him.

"When he first arrived, twice." Abraham fixed Steve with a stern look. "Once at school when a bunch of boys tried to steal his new shoes."

"They didn't want the shoes after I got blood all over 'em, did they?" Steve retorted. He caught James' glare. "One of them popped me in the nose, it was no big deal."

"And wasn't the other time at Scout camp when you were thirteen?" Sharon asked. She came around the counter to James' side. "Can I help? I'm good with a knife."

"Sure," James replied, stepping aside to let Sharon have at the vegetables. "Steve, did you punch someone at Scout camp?"

"Sure did," Steve said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Some kids were calling some other kid a faggot, so I told them to fuck off and if they wanted to punch a faggot, they could go and punch on me."

James stared at Steve. "What the fuck?" he demanded.

"Yeah," Steve said, sounding angry at the memory. "So they got in a few licks but I held my own. Scout leaders kicked me out on the spot for starting it. Abraham had to drive up in the middle of the night to come get me."

Abraham crossed the kitchen to pat Steve on the shoulder. "And we drove home and stopped for milkshakes at an all-night diner and I told you that you are going to be a good man when you grow up, as long as you keep standing up for what you believe in. And also to try to find another way dealing with bullies."

Steve put his arm around Abraham, almost dwarfing the older man. "And I said I'd stop punching them when I had some other way of stopping them."

Abraham patted Steve's back. "Ah, you have always been a stubborn boy."

"So," Sharon said as she diced a carrot with military precision. "I assume you're not telling the kids these stories."

"God no," James said. "Maybe we're hypocrites, but we're telling 'em to solve their problems by using their words. I think Clint gets it, but Nat can get sort of pushy at times. Maria think she should go into karate or something."

"Good idea for any little girl," Sharon said approvingly. "All right, what's next?"

The next little while was spent preparing for dinner. Sharon displayed an unnerving dexterity with a knife in preparing the vegetables, which only made James doubt her real estate story more. After a while, Abraham and Steve went outside to deal with the grill, which left James to set the table.

Occasionally, James would hear footsteps overhead, so he assumed the children were getting along well. He had too much to do before dinner to pay them much mind; they were usually fine to amuse themselves.

"Can I ask you something?" Sharon said as she sliced a red onion into paper-thin spirals.

"Sure." James wondered if he should get out the disposable utensils for Abraham. He hadn't used them the last time, but maybe James would have them ready, just in case.

"How are you and Steve doing?"

James' hand slowed on adjusting the plates. "We're good," he said cautiously. What was this about?

"Yeah?" Sharon let the onion spiral rest on a plate. "Good." She picked up a tomato. "Clint's really happy right now. That means a lot to me."

"It means a lot to me too," James replied.

Sharon held James' gaze as she dug the paring knife into the tomato's red flesh. "Steve wants the best in the world for Clint. So do I."

James was starting to get a little nervous. "That makes three of us, then."

"Good," Sharon said, setting down a perfectly formed tomato rose on the cutting board, and smiled.

James was impressed.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, coming back into the house. "We need a bit more…" His voice trailed off. "What's going on?"

"Sharon's working on salad garnishes," James said. "Hey, is your dad going to want paper plates, or are regular ones fine?"

"Regular's fine." Steve was looking at Sharon. "Sharon."

She looked at Steve with an innocent expression, and James lifted his hand to hide a smile. "Salad is a very important dish."

Steve shook his head. "Were you talking about me?" he asked.

"Why would we be talking about you?" Sharon asked in apparent surprise. "We were talking about Clint."

"What?"

"Clint," James repeated. "Short guy. Glasses. Lives in your apartment and hasn't paid a day's rent in his life."

Steve pinched his lips together in constipated annoyance.

"Ah, so you do remember him." Sharon said.

"The last thing in the world I need is you two ganging up on me," Steve muttered. "Bucky, you got any more briquettes? The bag's a bit low."

"There's more in the basement," James said. "I can go…"

His voice trailed off, as his practiced ear picked up a sound both familiar and unwelcome at the same time.

Crying.

And not just any crying; it was Natasha's full-bodied sobbing of sadness.

"Shit," James muttered, heading for the living room.

"That doesn't sound good," Steve said, on James' heels. "What do you think happened?"

"We'll find out."

In the living room, the wailing was getting louder as Natasha climbed down the stairs, a very worried Clint at her side. Natasha reached the ground floor as James was halfway across the living room, and she broke into a run to get to her father.

"Oh, boy," James said, going down on his knees to catch an armful of sobbing child. "What's wrong?"

Natasha cried against his shoulder, her words incomprehensible. As she sobbed, Clint came up to James and tried to pat Natasha's hair. "I'm sorry," Clint was saying, his eyes wide with panic.

"There, there," James said as he hugged Natasha tight. "Are you okay? Did one of you get bopped on the noggin or something?"

Clint shook his head. As Steve crouched down beside James, Clint backed up against Steve's side, clutching at his shirt in obvious distress.

"Nat." James rubbed Natasha's back. The crying showed no signs of abating. "Natasha, can you take a few deep breaths with me?"

"No!" Natasha wailed into James' shoulder.

"Oh dear." James settled back on the floor. He knew from experience when Natasha was this worked up about something, it would take a while to get her calmed down. "I'm going to take a few deep breaths anyway. I'm going to breathe in," and he took a dramatically large breath, "And out." He exhaled loudly.

James repeated this for a few minutes, and thankfully after a few times Natasha's sobs stuttered as she tried to copy James' breathing. Once he was certain that Natasha was calming down, James was able to look around. Clint was still clinging to his dad, looking more than a little scared. Sharon and Abraham were standing in the kitchen entranceway, both wearing expressions of parental worry.

James would have sighed, but the deep breathing exercise was making him lightheaded. But at least Natasha had stopped crying.

After another deep breath in and out, James lifted Natasha around so the girl was sitting against his side. "Hey, sweet pea."

Natasha glared up at him with angry eyes, then pressed her face against his shirt.

"Can you tell me what happened to make you so sad?"

Four feet away, Clint whispered, "I'm sorry."

Natasha made a hiccupping wail into James' chest, but it sounded forced to James' ear. James ran his hand over Natasha's hair. "Natasha. Can you use your words?"

Natasha turned her head to glare up at James. She was red-faced, like she usually was after a tantrum. "Clint _said_ that only mommies give the best hugs!" Natasha exclaimed. "He _said_ that! The best hugs!"

"Uh huh," James said, not sure what the problem was.

Natasha's face crumpled, the harbinger of another round of tears. "I don't _have_ a mommy so I'll _never_ have the best hugs!" The last word ended on a wail as Natasha mashed her face against James' chest.

Clint wrapped his arms around Steve's neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

James rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wishing for strength. "I'm sure that Clint meant that—"

Natasha's hand slapped against his sternum. "Never!" she wailed.

James reached for Natasha's hand to prevent another punch. "Natasha, I need you to calm down so we can think about this clearly," he said. "You're a big girl now, and I need you to think about this with your big girl brain."

Something touched his shoulder, startling James. He looked up to see Sharon holding a box of tissues and a glass of water. James took a tissue and gestured with his head for Sharon to set the rest of it down on the coffee table. She did so, then knelt beside Steve.

James had a passing thought that it was interesting, after Clint declared that mothers gave the best hugs, that the little boy stuck to his father in a crisis, but he supposed that made sense. Steve had been there for Clint while Sharon was away, and he was a more stable presence in Clint's life.

He shook those thoughts away. He had other problems at the moment.

"Here, blow your nose."

Natasha took the tissue and blew her nose loudly. She handed the wet tissue back to James, who set it down with a grimace.

"Do you want some water?"

Natasha nodded, so James handed her the glass. The little girl swallowed a few sips, spilling only a few drops on her dress. James put the glass back on the coffee table.

"Oh, boy," he said dramatically. "What an afternoon. Lots of stuff is happening, isn't it?"

Natasha huffed angrily.

"So, you're upset that you won't ever have the best hugs?"

"I won't!" Natasha declared, with almost as much drama as her father. "Only mommies give the best hugs, Clint _said so_!"

Clint shrank back against Steve's side. Steve hugged him in reassurance. "Clint," Steve said, "Did you tell Natasha that?"

Clint stuck his finger in his mouth and chewed at it for a moment before nodding.

"Huh." Steve looked at James. It was obvious that the man had no idea what to do next, and if James was to be honest, he was in the same boat.

In retrospect, he really should have insisted that Natasha take an after-lunch nap.

"Can I say something?" Sharon asked.

"Sure," James said, putting his arm around Natasha's shoulders just in case she got upset again.

"Natasha," Sharon began, not faltering in the face of the Natasha's glare. "I think what Clint meant was that, to him, mom hugs are really super great."

"That's not what he _said!_ " Natasha burst out.

"Sometimes, when we're excited, we say things without saying everything that we mean," Sharon went on. "Grown-ups do that all the time."

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Like when?"

"Like…" Sharon faltered.

Abraham saved them all. "Like when you have an ice cream cone and you say, 'this is so good, I am only going to eat ice cream for the rest of my life'." He sat down on the couch. "What you say, is how you feel in the minute. Everyone understands what you mean, but no one thinks that you will really only eat ice cream forever."

Natasha squirmed.

"And today, Clint's really excited to have everyone here," Sharon said. "Me, and Grandpa Abraham, and you."

"Me?"

"Yeah!" Clint burst out. "You're my best friend!"

"You're _my_ best friend!" Natasha cried. "But you _said_!"

Clint's lower lip began to tremble.

"Natasha, don't yell at Clint," James interjected.

"I'm not!"

"I know!" Sharon said. "How about an experiment?"

Both children looked at her.

"I'm a mom. How about we test Clint's theory about a mom hug?"

Natasha leaned forward.

"Because I think that the best hugs we get are from people who we love so much," Sharon said. "I think for you, that's your dad."

Natasha stood up. "Clint said it was a mom hug," she said.

Sharon refused to be daunted. "And for Clint, a mom hug is probably pretty great," she agreed. "Do you want to try?"

Natasha looked at James. "You don't have to," James said.

"I want to try an esperiment," Natasha said as she shuffled over to Sharon. "It's for _science_."

"Anything for science," Abraham said.

"Okay," Natasha said when she was in Sharon's personal space. "Do the hug."

Slowly, Sharon put her arms around Natasha in a delicate hug, squeezing very gently for a moment before letting go.

Natasha looked at Sharon, a large frown on her face. "I think you did that wrong," the little girl said. "That was not a good hug."

Sharon was obviously fighting to keep a straight face. "Would you like to try again?"

"Yes." This time, Natasha put more effort into the hug, but when she stepped back, she was still frowning. "You don't do hugs good _at all._ "

James put his hand over his face.

"I think we should try the second part of the experiment," Sharon suggested. "Go hug your dad and see if he gives the best hugs."

"Okay." Natasha launched herself at James, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a choking hold. James put his arm around Natasha's back, holding her tight as he rocked her from side to side, making her squeal with laughter.

"Oh, the biggest hug!" James growled, making Natasha laugh even more. Over Natasha's head, James watched as Clint went up to his mother for a hug, collapsing against her in relief. Sharon kissed Clint's hair, letting him play with the shoulder strap on her sundress.

"Daddy, that's a good hug!" Natasha exclaimed as she attempted to extricate herself. "I think that is a good science."

"Good." James smoothed down her hair. "Is there anyone else you think would give a good hug?"

Natasha pondered this for a moment, then said, "Steve!" She jumped at the man, giving him a big hug.

"What about me?" Clint asked shyly, standing up. "Natasha, can I give to you a hug?"

Natasha turned to face Clint. "Yes, you can give a hugs," she said solemnly. "And I can give a hug back to you."

The children embraced. Around them, the grown-ups looked at each other, faces all registering vague relief that the storm had passed.

After a long minute, the children released each other. "Do you want to go play more in the blanket fort?" Clint asked hopefully.

"No, I want a hamburger," Natasha said. "I am hungry."

"Dinner's going to take a little while," James said. "We gotta get the grill going."

"Is that with _matches_?" Clint asked. "I wanna do that. Can I do that?"

"You can both help me with that," Abraham said. "Can we go outside together?"

"In a minute," James said. "Me and Nat need to make a detour to wash her face."

"I don't wanna wash my face," Natasha whined, but she let James pull her into the kitchen and to wipe her cheeks with a wet cloth. "Daddy, I wanna go light the grill."

"After I get the briquettes from the basement."

"I got 'em," Steve said, walking through the hallway with the bag of briquettes over his shoulder. "Nat, want to come help me and Clint and Abraham?"

"Yes!" Natasha skipped along after Steve, as merry and happy as a clam.

James rested his hand on the counter, letting out a long breath. "Ugh."

"That was interesting," Sharon said as she carried the water glass over to the sink. "Does she often ask about her mother?"

"Biological mother," James said reflexively. "She's adopted. And no, this has never happened before. I think it was just a long day with no naps. Thanks for helping out, by the way."

"Any time," Sharon said. "That was a whole lot easier than calming Clint down when he was a toddler."

"Steve said he was a pretty chill little dude."

Sharon tilted her head to the side, considering. "I'd say ninety-five percent chill, five perfect bottle-rocket."

"That sounds like him."

Steve came through the back door. "Hey, Sharon," he said. "Can you give me and Bucky a minute? Abraham could use a little help with the kids."

Sharon glanced between Steve and James. "Sure thing." She moved toward the back door, slipping around Steve's bulk.

Once the two of them were alone, James leaned back against the counter with a long sigh. "What the hell, Steve."

"Natasha doesn't normally get so worked up." Steve came around the kitchen island to James' side. James put his arm around Steve's neck to pull him close. "What do you think it was?"

James breathed against Steve's cheek. "I think she was upset about Sharon being here, and not being the centre of Clint's attention for ten minutes," he said. "I really hope this doesn't happen again at school on Tuesday, Jesus Christ."

Steve ran his hand down James' chest. "I'm sure she'll be okay."

"Is Clint okay?" James asked. "He looked pretty freaked out."

"I think he's fine. What Sharon said helped him too." Steve let his hand rest on James' stomach. "Abraham said he'd try to get them talking. Maybe we can talk to them after dinner if Clint's not doing too good."

James breathed out, relaxing against the curve of Steve's body. "This sure has been one hell of a weekend."

Steve brushed his lips against James' ear. "It's only Saturday."

"Ugh, don't tell me that."

"We have two more days to go before school starts," Steve went on.

"And you know the kids aren't going to sleep the night before school." James was tired just thinking about Monday night.

"Unless they collapse from nervous energy at seven." Steve kissed James' earlobe, then nuzzled in the spot just behind his ear. James' breath caught in his throat. "Which reminds me, I need to ask you something."

James was having a hard time thinking, given the way Steve's fingers were running over his hipbone. "Yeah?"

"On Monday night, before school." Steve pulled back to look James in the eyes. "You still good with me and Clint staying over?"

James blinked. "Of course. Why you asking that?"

Steve reached up to run his fingers over James' cheek. "I know we talked last night about it, but I wanted to make sure it was still okay, after what happened today."

"It's always okay." James turned his head to kiss Steve's palm. "You and Clint can stay over any night you want."

Steve's eyes were shining. "Thanks," he said, then kissed James.

James melted against Steve, his senses overwhelmed by Steve's closeness, the press of his body against James', the way his hand cupped the back of James' head as they kissed.

This was just perfect.

An electronic ringing brought James back to the present. He pulled away from Steve as the other man dug his phone out of his pocket. "What the…" he muttered, then tapped the screen before bringing the phone to his ear. "Sharon."

There was quiet for a moment. James glanced out the window to see Sharon, standing well back from the grill with the children at her side, on her phone while Abraham puttered around with the grill.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right out," Steve said, and put his phone down. "Abraham needs help."

"Why'd she call?"

"She thought we might be busy," Steve said, putting finger-quotes around the last word.

"Huh." James pushed off the counter. "Go on, don't keep your dad waiting. The last thing I need is for my house to burn down over some hamburgers."

"Ha ha." Steve slapped James' arm on his way to the back door.

"Oh, and Steve?" James called after him.

Steve paused, hand on the door-handle.

"The next time you want Sharon to come over for some family time?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go out to eat instead."

Steve's face cracked into a grin. "Deal."

James followed Steve outside, and while Steve went to assist Abraham with the grill, James sat on the edge of the steps to observe. It only took a moment for both children to rush James.

"Oof," James said, holding his arms out so the children could settle in his lap. "Are you two having fun out here?"

"Uh huh." Clint took hold of James' prosthetic hand to play with the fingers. "I wanted to go in the sprinkler again, but Mommy and Grandpa Abraham said no."

"It's too close to dinner time, peanut." James looked down at where Natasha was yanking on his collar. "Yes?"

"Daddy," Natasha said urgently, "Clint and I are best friends."

"I know."

"No, we are best friends _always_ ," she insisted.

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "Always and forever."

James kissed the top of Natasha's head, then the top of Clint's head. The children giggled. "I'm glad to hear that," James said. "I'm so happy that you two are friends."

"Yeah." Natasha settled back against James' chest to watch the scene around the grill, where Sharon had joined Steve and Abraham in their battle with the briquettes.

James sighed, letting go of some of the lingering worries from the day. Sharon coming over to spend the afternoon hadn't been a disaster, and in retrospect it was probably good that they had gotten some of their issues out on the table. Clint was recovering well from Natasha's freak-out, and Natasha herself seemed to be back to normal.

"Daddy, what is it?"

"What is what?"

Natasha poked him in the chin. "Why do you do this?" She made an overexaggerated sigh of her own.

James smiled down at her. "Well, you know, I was just thinking about how happy I am."

"Oh." Natasha resumed her vigil of the grill set-up. "I'm happy too."

"I'm happy three!" Clint chimed in.

As Saturdays went, it was turning out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this awesome fanart that Drawsbutnotreally did for Hands of Clay! <http://drawsbutnotreally.tumblr.com/post/159369986817/recently-read-mhalachais-hands-of-clay-and-now>


	30. School Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very important announcement! There is a tie-in outtake for this chapter, [**The Many Adventures of Clint Barton Rogers: The First Day of School**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11785020) \- I strongly advise you read it either now (and them come back here) or read it at the end! I will link it there too. Tell me what you think of Clint's first day :P
> 
> Chapter soundtrack: [School Boy by Wynton Marsalis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jywQ4zqCm9w%20).

* * *

On the first day of school, James woke when the sky outside was still dark. Steve was asleep, so James snuck soundlessly out of bed, pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, then stumbled downstairs in search of coffee. The kids had kept themselves up late with nervous energy, so James was tired.

He was not expecting to find Clint fully dressed and sitting bolt upright on the downstairs couch.

"What's wrong?" was the first thing out of James' mouth. "Do you feel sick?"

"I don't want to be late for school," Clint said feverishly, clutching at his backpack. "Is it time to go?"

James sat on the couch beside Clint. "No, peanut, it's way too early." He yawned. "And your dad and me, we'd never let you be late on your first day."

Clint eyed him sceptically. "Promise?"

"I promise." James held up his hand, pinkie finger extended. "Pinkie-promise."

They solemnly shook. Then Clint slumped back, letting out a huge yawn of his own. "I'm hungry," he said.

"Me too. How about you go change into a t-shirt upstairs and you and me can make some breakfast?"

Clint looked down at his outfit. "Why?"

James stood. "Because whenever anyone's wearing a nice outfit, they'll spill food on it. It's Murphy's law."

Clint slid off the couch. "I don't know him," he called over his shoulder as he headed upstairs.

James laughed all the way into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, just as James was watching the first delicious drops of coffee drip into the carafe, Clint returned. He had put his pajamas back on and he was carrying Floppy under one arm. "I'm hungry," he said again.

James pulled open the fridge. "Well, breakfast is going to take a little while to cook, so you can pick from an apple, a banana, or a glass of milk."

"Banana," Clint said immediately. He went over to the kitchen island and hauled himself bodily up onto the countertop to get to the fruit. "What's for breakfast?"

James wedged the fridge door open with his foot while he pulled out a casserole dish. "Your dad made a special breakfast for us last night. We just gotta bake it now."

Clint watched as James put the casserole on the stove. "My Aunt Sally makes that all the time," he said through a mouthful of banana. "Does it have eggs and cheese?"

"And ham." James cranked the oven dial to pre-heat. "Does your Aunt Sally cook a lot?"

"Yeah." Clint kicked his feet against the cupboards. "When we go to Grandpa Abraham's house and she's there, she does the cooking. Only she doesn't use ham. When she's not there, Daddy cooks a lot."

"Your dad sure is a good cook." James peeled the plastic wrap off the casserole dish. Steve had been very clear that all James needed to do was to heat the oven and stick the casserole inside for forty-five minutes. In theory, it should be idiot-proof.

James just hoped that he didn't mess up Steve's plan.

"I'm a good cook, too," Clint said, drawing James' attention. "Me and Natasha made all kinds of good lunches with Skye this summer. Once, I even made _soup._ " He held out an empty banana peel.

"I remember, it was good soup." James dropped the banana peel into the sink to deal with later. "Now, we got about an hour until we eat. What do you want to do?"

Clint wanted to read, so James settled the boy at the kitchen table with a stack of library books, then set about getting everything else ready for breakfast. When Steve and Natasha stumbled into the kitchen an hour later, the sun was shining in the back windows, the cooked casserole was resting on top of the stove, and James was on his third cup of coffee.

"Morning," James said, setting his cup down to haul Natasha up into his lap. His daughter pressed her face against his neck and mumbled indistinctly. "Happy first day of school, sweet pea."

"Hi Daddy," Clint said, setting down _Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs_. "Me and James made breakfast!"

"That sounds great." Steve paused by the table to kiss the top of Clint's head, then continued on his way to the coffee maker. "How long've you two been up?"

"A while." James put his arm around Natasha as he made eye contact with Steve. "Someone was a little excited for their first day at school."

Steve looked over at Clint, who was neatly stacking the books, then back to James. "Ah."

"Yeah." James patted Natasha's back. "But we're all good. Natasha, honey, are you going to wake up today?"

"No."

"Oh well." James winked at Steve. "Then I guess I'll have to eat your breakfast for you. I know you wouldn't want all that cheese."

With a jerk, Natasha pulled herself upright and glared at her father from under a halo of tangled red hair. "You don't get to eat my cheese!" she said accusingly.

"Okay," James said, unable to stop himself from smiling. At the other side of the table, Steve was hiding his grin behind his coffee cup. "We'll get you the piece with the most cheese on it."

"You better," Natasha said, still glaring suspiciously at her father. "I'm going to watch you do it!"

"All right." James swung Natasha down to the ground. "Come on, let's get eating, we all have a busy day."

Breakfast was a rousing success. As everyone tucked into the meal, James coaxed the children to talk about what they expected from the day ahead, and was pleased to see Clint calm down as Natasha outlined a few of St. Ursula's practices, such as going out for recess, and eating lunch in the cafeteria.

"Do they do breakfast?" Clint asked through a full mouth. "My old school had breakfast."

"Yeah, but I never done it," Natasha said. "Daddy always makes me breakfast here."

"They can have breakfast with Before-School Club if you have to drop Clint off early," James said in an aside to Steve, as the children went on to the serious topic of checking out school library books. "It's nothing fancy, usually a yogurt parfait bar and some cereal."

Steve's eyebrows went up. "Nothing fancy, huh."

"What?"

"I'm trying to get used to the idea of this private school thing, and then you say stuff like that."

"The school dietician is big on increasing protein intake," James said, wondering what Steve meant. "He said it's better for learning than only carbs."

"The school has a dietician?"

"Steve, this school has everything to help the kids get a good education. Why'd you think it costs so much?"

"Yeah." Steve sat back in his chair, watching the children talk. "I just… I don't want my kid to get a swelled head or anything, you know?"

James snorted. "As if that's going to happen." He stood up. "I gotta shower. If you leave everything here I can put stuff away when we get back from dropping off the kids."

Steve smiled. "Or we can do that because you made breakfast for us." He got to his feet. "All right, everyone, we need to clean the kitchen up before we get ready for school."

James left the kitchen to escape the whining.

He showered and shaved in record time, hoofing it back to the bedroom to get dressed. He had arranged with Maria to take the day off, in return for a Thursday road trip out to Stony Brook on the firm's behalf, so he felt he could get away with business casual to drop his kid off at school.

From downstairs came the sounds of raucous singing. James grinned as he strapped on his prosthetic arm. Trust Steve to be able to motivate the troops with some Disney songs.

After pulling on trousers and a polo shirt, James grabbed a sports coat and took it and himself downstairs. The kitchen was nearly tidy, with Steve putting the empty casserole dish in the dishwasher. Clint and Natasha were carefully watering the plants in the windowsill.

"Hey, how's it all going?" James asked, tossing his sports coat over the back of a chair. "We gotta get a move on."

"We were cleaning up," Natasha said scathingly as she set the small watering can on the table. "Steve said we did a good job."

"You two always do a good job," James said gravely. "You try really hard and I'm proud of you for that."

Natasha wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I'm going to get dressed. Can I wear my barrettes today?"

"Sure thing, I'll be up in a few minutes to help." As Natasha scampered out of the kitchen, James looked at Clint. "You need any help?"

"No." Clint pushed at his hair until it was standing straight up. "I can get dressed." He walked over to his father, received a quick hug, then wandered away.

In the sudden quiet, Steve closed the dishwasher door. "We still got time, right?"

"Yeah, I just wanted those two to move their butts." James adjusted the short sleeve over his metal arm. "You want to grab a shower before we head out?"

"In a bit." Steve took a few steps across the kitchen, stepping into James' personal space, putting his hands on James' hips. "You got up so early, I didn't get a chance to say hello."

"Oh yeah?" James said, feeling a smile spread across his face. "That's a crying shame, you oughta do somethin' about that."

"Okay." Steve leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of James' mouth. "Hello."

"That's all you got?" James asked when Steve pulled back. "If I woulda known that's all I'd get, I'd have stayed in bed."

"Uh huh." Steve inched closer, pressing their bodies together. James let out a shaky breath at the zing of electricity that sped through his body. "If you had been there when I woke up, maybe I'd have done this."

He leaned in for another kiss. James grabbed at Steve's arm to keep himself steady. Steve's lips were so soft, and his body so warm, that James was a little lightheaded. He was _kissing Steve_ , and he was with Steve, and this didn't ever have to end.

He would do anything to keep Steve in his life.

Eventually, reluctantly, James pulled back. Breathing hard, he managed to say, "We, uh, have to get ready for school."

"Okay," Steve whispered. He ran his hand over James' cheek. "Can you check to make sure Clint's ready to go while I shower?"

"Of course." James turned his head to kiss Steve's palm. It was incredibly gratifying to hear Steve's sharp intake of breath, to see the blush that rose in his cheeks. "Anything you want."

For a moment, Steve just stood there, then with a quick shake of the head he stepped back. "You're trouble," he said as he walked backwards out of the kitchen.

James grinned, his whole body loose and giddy. "You're only just figuring that out now?" he called after Steve. Once Steve was heading upstairs, James went over to the sink. He put the last of the utensils in the dishwasher, turned it on, then went into the living room to get the children ready for their first day of school.

Clint and Natasha descended the stairs a few minutes later. "Daddy, help me with my barrettes," Natasha demanded, dashing over. James gave her a look. "Help me, _please!"_ Natasha amended.

"All right." James patted the couch cushion at his side. "Are you both ready for school?"

"Yes," said Natasha primly. "I put on my clothes, and my socks, and _everything!"_

"Me too." Clint climbed up onto the loveseat and dangled over its padded arm. "I'm ready."

"Good." James clipped Natasha's hair into place. "Are you wearing clean underwear?"

"Uh huh," Clint said. Natasha just glowered at her father.

"Daddy, of course!" she scolded. "Don't be gross!"

"Clean underwear is important," James said, pulling Natasha off the couch. "Come on, uniform inspection time." Pursing her lips, Natasha put her arms out from her body and turned in a circle. Her shirt was tucked in and her skirt on the right way. James pulled a lock of Natasha's red hair out from under her jacket collar. "All ship-shape. But pull up your socks. Clint, your turn."

While Natasha grumbled her displeasure about socks, Clint rolled off the loveseat and stumbled over to where James sat. "When are we gonna go?" the boy asked nervously as James tried to smooth down his hair.

"In twenty minutes," James said. The collar of Clint's polo shirt was crooked, so James folded it into place. "Your dad's just taking a quick shower, then off we go."

"We're not going to be late?" Clint asked anxiously.

"Nope. Tuck your shirt in and pull your socks up, okay?" While Clint did so, James heaved himself to his feet. "Where did you guys put your backpacks? Go get them so we can make sure you got everything."

The children dashed away, giving James enough time to head over to the bottom of the stairs. Upstairs, the shower had turned off.

"Hey, you takin' a day at the spa?" James called up to Steve.

"I'll be down in two minutes!" Steve shouted. "Gimme a break!"

"Never!" James turned around and nearly tripped over Natasha. "Hi."

Natasha brandished her backpack. "Daddy, what do I gotta take today?" she demanded. "I don't got gym today."

"You don't have gym today," James corrected automatically. "And you have to take your homework for Mr. Logan. Go get that from the kitchen counter."

Natasha let out a theatrical sigh as she departed, lugging her empty backpack along with her. In the meantime, Clint had put his backpack on the coffee table and was staring at it. "James?" Clint said.

"Yeah?"

"My daddy packed my backpack last night," Clint said, chewing on his finger. "Do I have to put anything else in it?"

"Nope." James helped Clint zip the backpack up. "Let's put it on, to see how it fits." Together, they eased the new backpack up onto Clint's shoulders. "How's that feel?"

Clint turned in a circle, trying to see over his shoulder to the new bag. "It's okay," he said. "My jacket itches."

"Yeah, it'll do that," James commiserated. "Are you okay?"

"Uh huh." Clint sniffled. "When do we come home from school?"

"We'll be there to pick you up at three o'clock." James waited as Clint looked at his watch. "Today's a short day. Tomorrow you'll be there until about three-thirty."

Clint puffed out a breath. "That's forever," he moaned.

"And you'll be having fun the whole time. Go put your shoes on."

As Clint tromped across to the shoe rack, Natasha wandered out of the kitchen. "I have my homework!" she announced. "Can we go?"

"Come here first," James said. Natasha meandered across the living room, dragging her backpack behind her. "I need a hug."

"You can have a hug later," Natasha said. "I have to go to school."

James sighed. "Okay."

Natasha looked at him out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then she jumped at him, saying, "Just kidding!"

"Oof." James wrapped Natasha up in a big bear hug, listening to her squeal. "Thanks for such a great hug, sweet pea."

"You're welcome!" Natasha kissed James' cheek. "Come on, we'll be late for school!"

James released his daughter. "No, we won't, and you know it. Shoes."

Natasha galloped over to the shoe rack, dropping down beside Clint, who was having some difficulty with his laces. "Can I wear my Superman shoes?" Clint asked James, his eyes wide with hope behind his glasses.

"Not today, peanut, we all have to look our best on the first day of school." James went back over to the bannister and leaned over it. "Steve, for real, motor your butt!"

Natasha giggled as she pulled on her left shoe. "Daddy, you said _butt!_ "

"I sure did." James leaned back as Steve hurried down the stairs, freshly washed and a little rumpled. "You planning on joining us today?"

Steve gave James the stink-eye as he crouched down beside Clint. "Are you having problems with your shoes?" Steve asked.

Clint shoved his foot at his father. "The laces are too slippy, I can't tie them."

"You should wear girl shoes, they have buckles." Natasha stuck her foot out, nearly kicking Steve.

"I'm not wearing girl shoes!" Clint exclaimed.

Natasha put her foot down with a huff and flounced over to James, while Steve quickly tied Clint's laces. "This isn't hard, Clint, you just need to practice a bit more," Steve said.

"Daddy," Natasha said, poking James in the leg. "Am I pretty?"

James prayed for patience. "You are very clean and tidy," he said. "Do you feel pretty on the inside?"

Natasha pulled on her backpack. "Yes," she declared. "I feel pretty."

"Then you are pretty."

Laces tied, Steve hauled Clint up to his feet. In two brief minutes, Clint had gone from neat to completely disheveled, his hair pointing in all directions and his shirt untucked. James was briefly reminded of Sharon Carter's summation of her small son – a loveable chaos monster.

Steve sighed. "Clint."

Clint scratched his cheek. "What?"

Steve held out his arms. "Hug?"

Clint surged forward, draping himself over Steve's shoulder. He muttered something indistinct in Steve's ear.

Steve patted Clint on the back. "You're going to have a great day," he said. "I promise."

Natasha, fidgeting with impatience, threw her head back to look at James. "Daddy," she moaned. "We're going to be _late._ "

"No, we're not." James glanced over at Steve, who was helping to restore some order in Clint's appearance. "We are going to be just right on time."

Natasha bopped her elbow against James' knee. "Can I drive?" she asked, then started giggling.

James made a face. "We're walking to school today," he reminded her. "It's a nice day and the school is only a mile away."

"Okay." Natasha headed towards the front door. "Come on Clint, we're going to school!"

Clint picked up his backpack. "Okay, wait for me!"

James looked at Steve. "You ready for this?"

Steve stood up. "Yup," he said, but the tension in his eyes told James that Steve was nervous.

James held out his hand, and Steve took it. "It's going to be fine," he said in an undertone while the children talked loudly at each other. "He's going to be fine. They'll look out for each other."

"Yeah." Steve squeezed James' hand. "It's just hard." With one last squeeze, he stepped away from James. "All right, kids, let's get moving."

"We are _ready!_ " Natasha exclaimed, her hands on the doorknob. "We are waiting for _you!_ "

"Yeah, Daddy, you're slow," Clint said with a laugh. "So slow!"

"Well," Steve said, "We can't have that."

James hung back as Steve ushered the kids outside, then he set the alarm and locked up the house behind him. Outside, Steve had Clint and Natasha by the hand, waiting at the bottom of the steps. "Okay, gang, let's go," James said.

Natasha started off, dragging Steve and Clint with her. James followed a pace behind, looking around in the beautiful September light. A few of the leaves on the trees lining the street were already starting to turn orange and red. Soon, the grass would turn brown, the leaves would fall, and Halloween would be creeping up around the corner.

James loved this time of year.

"And I'm going to play on the playground, and read a book, and have lunch!" Natasha was saying to Steve. "And snacks! I love snacks!"

"I like snacks too," Clint put in. "I like popsicles."

"I like popcorn!" Natasha added.

"I like cookies!"

"So much junk food," Steve said. "When me and Bucky were kids, we didn't have snacks in school. We had to wait to get home to Bucky's house for cookies."

James raised his eyebrows at Steve's back. "Which Bucky you talkin' about?" he demanded. "When'd we ever get cookies at my house after school?"

Steve looked over his shoulder. "It happened once," he said with a wink. "I think."

"Daddy," Natasha said, letting go of Steve's hand and reaching for James'. "Can we have cookies after school? Please?"

"Please?" Clint added to the begging, his eyes huge. "I love cookies."

"You see what you done?" James said to Steve. "All right, kids, calm down, we'll have a real nice snack after school."

"You promise?" Natasha asked, hanging on James' arm.

"Of course I promise."

_"Really?"_

James squinted at her. "When'd I ever break my word to you?"

Natasha thought about this for a moment. "I don't know. But maybe I'll remember one day."

James rolled his eyes at the sky. "Let me know how that goes."

"Okay."

The rest of the walk was lovely, in spite of the children's nervous energy. The streets were beginning to fill up with people on their way to work and to school. Last year at this time, James had been so freaked out about Natasha's first day in school that he'd nearly gotten sick on the walk to St. Ursula's. He hadn't been sure why; he'd never had any problem leaving her at her preschool.

James looked down. Natasha's hair was already coming loose from her little blue barrettes. Maybe he should have braided her hair instead.

"Daddy?" Natasha said, looking up.

"Yes?"

"I want to go swimming after school!"

James shook his head. "No, Nat. It's Tuesday."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Then I want to go to dance!"

"No, I told you, dance classes start next week."

Exasperated, Natasha rolled her eyes and dragged her feet. "Daddy!"

James couldn't stop himself from making a tsking noise. "If you do that, you're going to scuff your shoes," he said, wincing at how much the words sounded like something his mother would have said. Luckily, his daughter stopped dragging her feet, so he could shove his mother's voice into the back of his mind for now. He glanced over to where Steve and Clint were walking, Clint looking over his shoulder at Natasha. "What do you think, Clint? What should we do after school?"

"Go to the playground," Clint said. "And swing on the swings!" The boy's foot caught on something and he tripped. Luckily, Steve's grasp on his hand kept Clint from toppling to the ground.

"Clint, be careful," Steve said. "Watch where you're going."

Steve patted Clint on the shoulder as the boy stared at his feet, kicking the sidewalk every few steps. James breathed out. He hoped that the kids had a good day at school, and that Clint would have a good year. The kids had been talking non-stop about Mr. Logan and their new classroom since their visit the previous week, so James was cautiously optimistic.

He really wanted the kids to have a good year. With how much they were paying for the children's tuition, he'd have a lot to say if they didn't.

It occurred to James that he was turning into one of _those_ parents, and he repressed a shudder.

They turned the last corner to St. Ursula's, and Clint stopped so suddenly that James nearly walked into him.

"Clint, come on," Steve said, gently tugging on Clint's hand, but Clint stayed put. "Clint." Clint still didn't move, so Steve moved Clint out of the flow of foot traffic. "First day jitters?"

Clint shook his head.

Natasha let go of James' hand and walked over to Clint's side, shucking out of her backpack as she went. James dove for the bag before it tripped up some unsuspecting passer-by. "I'm all ready to show Mr. Logan my homework," Natasha said. "And we're gonna have the best snacks! And recess! I love recess!"

Clint wiped his nose on his hand, then sucked in a snotty breath. "Daddy, where's my homework?"

Steve ran a hand over Clint's head. "It's in your backpack, beside your purple bandana."

Clint looked up, light coming back into his eyes, and he smiled at Steve.

"Let's get going," said James, over a lump in his throat at how lucky he and Natasha were to have Steve and Clint in their lives. He offered Natasha her backpack. "Snap-to, double-time."

"Snap-to!" Natasha exclaimed, pulling on her backpack.

"What's double-time?" Clint asked.

"We move twice as quickly." James held out his prosthetic hand to Clint, who grabbed it tight. "Double-time, forward march!"

Natasha grabbed James' other hand and they were off, marching along at speed. The kids giggled as they hurried down the sidewalk, towards the school. When they were almost to there, Clint called over his shoulder to Steve, "Double-time!"

As James slowed to go up the school steps, he could see Steve smiling at them.

"You good?" James asked quietly as he was towed along by the kids into the hallways, cluttered with parents and children on their way to class.

"Yeah," Steve replied, only a step behind. "It's just a lot of change."

"They're going to do great," James said. "You know that."

"I do." Steve's smile softened, just for James. "Thanks to you."

"I didn't do nothing," James objected, nearly tripping as Clint went one way and Natasha the other. He pulled Natasha in the right direction. "Just bein' me."

"That's all a guy could want," Steve said.

They turned the last corner to Mr. Logan's classroom, and the children suddenly let go of James' hands. "Hey, no running inside!" James shouted, but the children didn't pay him any attention. "Yeesh."

Steve took a deep breath. "So how is this going to go?"

"Huh?" James took a moment to tug at his jacket so it hung straight over his prosthetic arm. "We go in, watch the kids run in circles for a while, then the teacher gives out some motivational crap and kicks us out for the day."

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets. "You know, last night, I kept wondering if Clint was going to be okay with all this, and it was about three o'clock in the morning when I finally realized that it's me who's doing all the worrying."

"I think Clint's got his own worrying going on." Briefly, James told Steve about finding Clint awake so early.

Steve groaned. "He's going to be a mess this afternoon without a nap."

"So we take them home after school and say they can play in the sprinkler," James said. "That way if they fall asleep on the grass, we just move the sun umbrella over them and leave them to it."

Steve smiled. "Natasha ever do that?"

"No, but once she had a meltdown at the park and she just had a nap right there on the lawn," James said. He started moving towards the classroom. "Then, get this, she wakes up and asks me in her squeaky little baby voice why I made her sleep on the grass."

"That sounds pretty cute."

"Yeah, she was okay." They walked through the classroom door into a wave of sound. "Gotta say, though, it's good that she's growing up."

"Yeah." For the briefest of moments, Steve's shoulder was pressed against James'. "Yeah, it's good. I'm going to find my kid."

"Try over by the coat racks," James suggested, as he had seen a flash of blond hair in that direction. He was intent on locating his own child, who had disappeared into the sea of people.

" 'k." And Steve was gone.

James moved slowly through the room, looking for any sign of Natasha. There were many parents, some of whom he had met the previous year, and the odd familiar child. Mr. Logan was by his desk, listening to some parent explain something. When James came within earshot of the two, Mr. Logan held up his hand to stop the other parent and said, "Thanks for bringing this to my attention and we should schedule some time after school this week to go into it further, but right now I need to have a brief word with Mr. Barnes."

The other parent shuffled off with ill grace as Mr. Logan turned to James. "Everything okay with Natasha?" James asked, leaning against the desk.

"Probably," Mr. Logan said. "I do need to talk to you. It's about her medical history."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me." James dug out Natasha's emergency inhaler. "Here."

Mr. Logan took the inhaler and put it into his desk. "There's been a change in the school's policy on prescription medicine, I'll send home a copy of the new paperwork with Natasha this afternoon."

"Great. Are you still able to give her the inhaler if she has an asthma attack?"

"Yeah, I have medic training."

James' eyebrows went up. "You were an EMT?"

"Medical tech, Royal Canadian Air Force."

James' eyebrows went up even further. "No shit."

Mr. Logan's eyes were steady on James. "None whatsoever."

Something collided with James' hip. "Daddy," came a familiar voice. "When does first grade start?"

"Soon," James said, with one last look of comradery with Mr. Logan before the teacher moved on to another parent. "Did you know that your teacher is pretty neat?"

"Uh huh," Natasha said. She slipped her hand into James', squeezing for reassurance. "But he's not as neat as Maria."

"That's true, no one's as neat as Maria." James patted Natasha's shoulder. "Hey, look, it's that boy you knew from last year. Go talk to him."

Natasha glowered up at James. "That's Ricky," she said scathingly. "His brother is in the _army_."

"Good, go talk to him about that." James stood back to look around the room. He quickly focused in on Clint, who was ping-ponging around the room introducing himself to the other children. _Hi, I'm Clint!_ was easy to hear above the general hubbub.

Steve made his way over to where James was standing. James knew Steve well enough to know that his faintly constipated expression meant that Steve was ill at ease, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. "Hey."

"Hey." Steve leaned against the wall at James' side. "This is weird."

"Dropping the kids off?"

"Yeah." Steve's voice was pitched low. "I mean, we left them with Skye all summer, but this feels different."

"They'll be fine," James assured him. "Remember how Clint was on the first day with Skye? He climbed out a freakin' window because he liked her so much."

Steve winced. "Don't remind me."

"At least here they're on the ground floor."

_"Bucky."_

"Don't _Bucky_ me, I'm just telling it like it is." Over by Mr. Logan's desk, James spotted Clint approaching Natasha and her little friend. "Look at your guy go, he's already making friends."

Steve watched as Clint introduced himself to the other boy. "I hope this works out," he said after a minute. "It'll make all this financial bullshit worth it, ya know?"

Before James could reply, Mr. Logan said, "All right, everyone gather at the story circle. Kids, sit. Parents, stand if you want."

The children scampered towards the circle. James and Steve moved over to hover with the other parents. Mr. Logan went over to the blackboard and cast a baleful eye over the room. Some of the children giggled.

"Thanks, everyone, for coming to our first day of first grade. I'm Mr. Logan."

"Hi, Mr. Logan!" the children shouted. Clint sat back, visibly startled. "Usually, we start the day with story time." Mr. Logan indicated the blackboard. "This is today's agenda, and we'll go over every day's plan before story time. Now." Mr. Logan turned his glare on the parents. "Say goodbye to your kids and we'll see you at three."

"No drawn-out goodbyes in first grade," James muttered. He and Steve fought through the crowd to where Natasha and Clint were seated. "All right, good-bye hugs?"

Natasha bounced to her feet to give James a hug. "Daddy, fix my hair," she demanded imperiously. " _Please._ "

James busied himself with her barrettes. Beside them, Clint was patting Steve on the shoulder, saying something reassuring to his father.

Well, it was a good thing James had all day to cheer Steve up; the man was looking like a wet blanket.

In front of him, Natasha was shimmying with impatience. "Hold still, Nat." He clipped the barrette in place. "Mr. Logan has your emergency inhaler, okay?"

Natasha made a face. "I know!" She pushed at him. "Daddy, go away, we can't have fun with you here."

"Fine." James kissed Natasha's forehead, ignoring her grumbles of protest. "We'll go to the park after school."

Natasha grinned.

James turned to Clint, who was still looking a bit stunned. "See ya later, peanut," he said, putting out his prosthetic hand for a fist bump. "I'll keep your dad out of trouble today, don't you worry."

"Bucky."

James stood, pretending he hadn't heard Steve.

"Go goodbye," Natasha said, pushing James towards the door. "We want to have fun but _you're still here_."

"Yeah, yeah, see you later." With a last look towards the kids, James headed for the exit, Steve on his heels.

Out in the hall, parents were blinking at each other. James, fearing he was about to be sucked into a conversation about 'kids these days', hunched his shoulders and made for the exit. After a few steps, Steve joined him.

"No small talk?" Steve said, but teasingly.

"I gotta see a man about a horse," James said. "Also, I'm going to kill someone if I don't get more coffee and soon."

"Coffee?"

James waited until the next light before turning to Steve. "Yeah. Brown liquid. Helps when you've been got out of bed by the demands of single parenting."

Steve looked to the sky. "Remind me again why I put up with you?" he asked.

James elbowed Steve in the arm. "You got low standards, that's all."

Steve elbowed James back. "My standards are damned high, thank you. Where were you thinking of getting this coffee?"

"There's a place the next block over, I go there sometimes when I'm waiting to pick up Nat."

"Or…" Steve shrugged. "I mean, you got lots of coffee at your place."

"Yeah, but no donuts."

"Bucky." Steve stopped to let some pedestrians pass them. "I mean, we have hours to kill, and you're not working today, right?"

"Yeah…" James still didn't get what Steve was driving at. Was there somewhere else he wanted to go?

Steve sighed as he pulled out his phone. He tapped on the screen for a moment, then James' phone pinged. James pulled it out, swiped the screen, and frowned.

Why had Steve sent him an emoji of an eggplant?

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Steve muttered. Another text appeared on James' screen, this time with two emojis: a hand with a finger extended, and the other a hand making the 'OK' sign.

"What?" James looked at the screen, then at Steve, then back at his screen. It took an embarrassingly long time for the penny to drop. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Steve!" James sputtered, shoving his phone away. "You can't just send me stuff like that!"

"Why not? You lock your phone all the time, no one's going to see it."

"I can't believe you," James said, changing direction on the sidewalk. "Sending texts like that, in public."

"It's not like I need to send them in private," Steve pointed out.

Now that James' thoughts had been dragged in a decidedly carnal direction, James was hyper aware of Steve's presence at his side, large and warm and smelling lightly of Steve's aftershave. James' heart was beating a little fast, and his mouth was dry, and he was wishing that he'd driven them to school so they could get home _faster_.

James dragged his mind back to reality. "Just…" He looked around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. "Don't send me any pictures of your… eggplant. My kid goes on my phone sometimes."

"Of course not."

"I mean, you know, phone screens make eggplants look so…" James wrinkled up his nose.

"Shrivelled?"

James nearly walked into a mailbox.

"Limp?" Steve continued, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

"I was going to say small, but whatever, you go with it."

"You ever picked up a week-old eggplant?" Steve went on. "It's all soft and floppy, no one wants that in their salad."

James walked faster. "Growing up in Jersey made you weird," he announced. Steve laughed behind him. "You keep your eggplant fantasies to yourself. I'm going home."

"Now a cucumber, that's got some girth to it—"

James turned on Steve and stopped so suddenly that Steve crashed into him. "You can keep your vegetable fetish to yourself," he said, reaching up to cover Steve's mouth with his hand. Steve tried to go around James, with the result that they circled each other on the sidewalk. "You keep this up and I'm not going to be able to walk into a produce store ever again."

Steve licked James' palm, making James yank his hand away. "You were in the army," Steve said. "Why are you such a shrinking violet all of a sudden?"

James wiped his hand on Steve's shirt. "Yeah, I was in the army," James said. "And you know what? Our dick jokes had _class_."

"Pfft." Steve put his hand on James' back to shove him gently down the sidewalk. "There is no such thing as a classy dick joke."

"That sounds like a challenge," James said. They were only a block from his house now. "And this means I'm going to have to read a whole bunch of terrible jokes just to find one to prove you wrong. I hope you're happy."

"Never been happier," Steve said.

James looked down at the sidewalk, unable to stop the rush of euphoria in his chest, sparking out to his limbs, his whole body was filled with little bubbles of joy. "Shut up."

"Nope."

They closed that last half-block in silence. James was almost vibrating as he ran up the steps, full of energy and hope and what was probably some happiness of his own. He unlocked the outer, then inner doors, and took the five steps to the alarm panel to turn off the beeping. He ran his eyes over the alarm logs without even thinking about it, then set the panel to 'home' and turned to Steve.

"You locked the door?" James asked, suddenly aware of how quiet it was, how alone they were.

"Both of them," Steve said. He was unbuttoning his shirt cuffs as he walked slowly across the room. "And you got the alarm?"

James took a deep breath. "Uh huh," he said. He found he was moving across the floor towards Steve, and wasn't that just the story of his life? He was always moving towards Steve; it was always Steve at the centre of his universe. "What happens now?"

Steve's eyes were shining. "Now," Steve whispered, "Is the part where I kiss you." James couldn't hold in a gasp when Steve touched him, one hand on his hip, one hand cupping his jaw.

James' heart zinged in his chest. "Okay," he whispered back, and leaned into Steve, and kissed him.

The kiss was perfect, slow and deep. James leaned into Steve's embrace, marveling at how Steve could be so firm and so soft at the same time.

James rested his prosthetic hand on Steve's side and let his other hand play along Steve's arm, trailing over the cotton of his shirt, down to the soft skin and fine hairs on his forearm.

"Mmmph," Steve said, breaking from the kiss. He was breathing hard. "Jesus, Bucky."

James wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrist. "Yeah?" He leaned in to press tiny kisses against Steve's cheek. "Sometin' happening you like?"

"All of it," Steve breathed, his free hand going around James' neck to tangle in his hair. "Whatever you're doing, I like it."

"Then I guess I'll keep going." James flicked his tongue over the lobe of Steve's ear, then started kissing down his neck.

Steve sighed. "I love you," he whispered in James' ear.

"Good," James murmured against Steve's throat. " 'Cause I love you too."

"Good." Steve turned his hand in James' grasp, sliding their fingers together. "Would, ah, you like to take this upstairs?"

James pulled back. "You bet I do." He kissed Steve again. "I just gotta do something first."

Steve brushed a strand of hair off James' forehead. "What?"

"I just have to check the doors and stuff."

A momentary chill dampened some of James' excitement. What if Steve thought it was stupid, James always checking the points of entry into the house? What if it killed this mood?

But Steve just smiled, running his fingers over James' cheek. "Sure thing," he said. "I'll run upstairs and get everything ready."

Weak with what might have been relief, James grabbed Steve's hand to kiss his palm. "I'll be right up."

"I'll be waiting." Reluctantly, Steve stepped back, heading towards the stairs. James watched him go, unable to look away, unable to stop smiling at the dopey, happy expression on Steve's face.

Once Steve had vanished up the stairs, James shook himself into action. He had a routine to checking the house when he got home; a quick run down to the basement to make sure the doors and windows hadn't been disturbed, then up to the main floor for a repeat there. All the doors were locked, and the window latches all in position, the latch one-sixteenth of an inch from full closure, so James would know no one had come in that way.

Taking a deep breath, James went upstairs. He could hear Steve moving around in the bedroom, but he pushed down the intense desire to be with Steve, _now_ , and made himself mount the stairs to the third floor. The door to the roof remained locked and bolted, so James could descend the stairs back to the second floor.

Where Steve was.

James hesitated on the landing, making himself take a few deep breaths. He could do this. He _wanted_ to do this. He wanted to spend time alone with Steve. In bed. Preferably naked. _Stop dicking around_ , James chided himself, and walked towards the bedroom.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but it sure wasn't this. "Fuck," James said before he could stop himself. "That is _not fair_."

"What isn't?" Steve said from the bed, wearing an innocent expression and nothing else. "I got hot. Needed some air."

"You're a fucking menace," James told him as he kicked the door closed behind him. " _I got hot_ , he says. Jesus Christ."

Steve put his hands behind his head, stretching out on the bed. "Sounds like you might be a bit overheated yourself."

James unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, then yanked it over his head. "Did you take a class in cheesy one-liners?" he asked as the shirt hit the floor. "You should ask for your money back. They're terrible."

Steve's lips curled up into a smile. "It's working on you, isn't it?"

James yanked at the strap holding his arm in place. "Just 'cause I'm a sucker for your face doesn't mean I'm falling for your lines." Thankfully, the strap came loose on the first try, and James removed his prosthetic to set on the dresser.

Steve ran one hand down his side, his hip, all the way to his thigh. James nearly tripped in taking off his pants. "You like my face?" Steve asked.

James managed to kick off his pants without falling. "Your face ain't that bad," he said, kneeling on the bed. He just had time to pull his socks off before Steve reached for him, pulling him down into a full-body embrace. The shock of skin on skin stole James' breath away. "It ain't no worse than the rest of you," he managed, then mercifully his mouth closed on Steve's before he could say anything else.

Steve rolled them onto their sides, legs sliding together, hands touching and stroking. They'd slept in the same bed a few times now, but when the kids were in the house, they'd kept some clothes on and never progressed much beyond kissing and some mutual jerking-off.

This… this was worlds apart from those nighttime caresses. James was on fire, needing everything, needing everything _now_. He was with Steve, and Steve was with him, and nothing could be better than this.

"You're so amazing," Steve murmured as he kissed his way down James' throat. "We should do this every day, it's perfect."

"Sure," James breathed, because all his normal objections about timing and children and interruptions would require him to think about something other than how Steve's hands were sliding down his body.

Steve made a happy humming noise as he licked along James' collarbone. "Can I suck you off?" he asked.

James' hips twitched. In bed with Steve for not even five minutes, and he was already ready to go off. "Yeah. No. Wait."

Steve instantly sat up. "Bucky?"

"I'm good," James said. "You're just a lot to handle at once, okay?" He took a deep breath, then reached for Steve. "Get back down here."

Steve slid back against James, his head resting on James' shoulder, his arms around James' body. He was big and warm and safe and for a moment, James lay still, trying to understand how a guy like him had everything he'd ever wanted, right there.

"I was thinking," James said after minute. "You, me. Maybe we could do… stuff."

Steve ran a hand up James' ribs, tracing the scars on his chest. "I like stuff," he said, then kissed James' chest. "What kind of stuff you have in mind?"

James turned his head to watch Steve's hand playing over his scars, a gentle touch. "You said that you like to do… everything." And, for some unfathomable reason, James blushed.

"Uh huh." Steve leaned up and kissed James, his tongue sliding into James' mouth. James pressed his shoulders back against the bed, letting Steve kiss him, touch him. As the kiss deepened, James shifted his hips, gasping into Steve's mouth as his cock dragged over the soft skin of Steve's stomach.

Steve pressed his own cock against James' thigh, his hips shifting in a gentle rhythm. It was wonderful, it was perfect, but James wanted more.

Carefully, James disentangled himself from the kiss. "Steve," he said, looking at Steve. He wanted to be clear about this. "Maybe we could… go a little bit further this time?"

Never taking his eyes off James', Steve kissed James' chest. "How far?" he asked. The low vibration of his voice echoed in James' very bones. "Do you want to be inside me?"

The words knocked James' response right out of his mouth. He nodded, then, needing Steve to be a lot closer, _right now_ , he reached for Steve again. This time, the kiss was a promise. His body was tense with anticipation, like the feeling of standing on the flight deck of a night-time plane run, parachute on his back, ready to dive headlong into the dark expanse below.

After an eternity, Steve rolled onto his back. He smiled up at James. "I've got some lube and condoms and stuff in my bag."

James raised his eyebrows. "Good," he said. "Same."

"You do?" Steve lay still as James reached over him into the little drawer in the bedside table. "You got a brand you like?"

"Maybe." James slapped the condom box onto the table, and sat back holding the little bottle of lube. "Shit." He'd half hoped he could fake his way through this, but of course he couldn't. "I, uh… I never done this before."

Steve propped himself up on his elbows. "What is it?" he asked, but softly.

James stared at the bottle of lube. "Just…" God, why was this so hard to say? "You know I never…. Dated."

"Yeah."

"I also never been…" Jesus Christ, he could feel his face going red. He was a thirty-two-year-old Ranger veteran, and here he was blushing like some Victorian spinster. "Whatever you want to call it. On top."

"Oh." Steve sat up. He gently reached for James' hand. "Do you want to be?"

James took a steadying breath, and lifted his gaze. He needed to be looking at Steve for this. "Yeah," he said. "I really do. If you want that."

Steve took the lube from James and put it on the bed, then lifted James' hand and kissed his fingers. It should have been weird, but it wasn't. "I want that a whole lot."

"Okay." James leaned in and kissed Steve until he felt a bit more stable. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Steve's smile was blinding. "All right." He moved the lube to the bedside table, then laid himself down in the middle of the bed. "Take me, I'm yours."

James poked Steve in the belly. "Yeah, my doofus." Steadying himself, James moved so he was kneeling over Steve's thighs. "Wait, that's not going to work." He sat back to the side, trying to figure out the logistics of where all the arms and legs were supposed to go.

Steve reached for the condom box. "Let's do this first," he suggested. He ripped the box open and pulled out one small square package.

James took the condom package in his hand, looked down at his dick, then sighed. "Well, this is inconvenient," he said ruefully. "Would you believe me that this has never come up in the last six years?"

"Putting on a condom one-handed?" Steve took the condom back from James. "It's just practice. It'll come." He ripped the wrapper open.

"You suppose I'll have the time to practice?" James asked.

Steve plucked the condom out of the package. "Bucky," he said, looking up at James with earnest eyes. "You can practice by fucking me any day of the week."

James looked down at Steve, naked and muscular, his cock erect and straining against his stomach, and he had to put his hand over his eyes for a moment. "Fuck, Steve, you say shit like that and I'm going to lose it," he said.

"Good," said Steve. "Can I put this on you now?"

"Yes." James moved his hand just in time to see Steve flip open the lid of the lube bottle. "What are you doing?"

Steve looked up at James with what could only be described as a smirk. "Safe sex. Stay still, would ya?"

Breathing a little hard, James tried to not move. Steve upended the lube bottle and dripped two drops of the clear liquid onto the tip of James' dick. Then he put the bottle down, picked the condom up from where he'd put it on his thigh, and in a complicated hand motion, had the condom on James and rolled down in a matter of moments.

"Perfect," Steve said. He ran his thumb over the head of James' dick, and the slick slide of the condom against that sensitive part made James yelp. "All right, let's get started."

He lay down, pulling at James until James was kneeling between Steve's thighs. "Uh," James said, wondering how things had started moving so quickly. "Wait, what do you need?"

Steve's smile had taken on a mischievous hint. "You and a bottle of lube."

James put his hand on Steve's hip. "I'm serious."

Steve's smile faded into an intense look. "So am I." He lifted one knee and pressed it against James' side. "Look, sometimes when I'm…" He made a jerking-off motion with his hand. "Sometimes I'll get a little extra action goin' on." He waggled his fingers.

James looked at Steve's hands, then back at Steve's face. "Fuck," he said, unable to pull anything more coherent together. "Fuck, all right."

Steve grinned. "I knew you'd see it my way." He shoved the lube into James' hand. "Come on, oil up and let's go."

"Your fucking mouth," James muttered, obediently squirting lube onto his dick, then he clicked the lid back into place and tossed the bottle onto the bed.

"What's that about fucking my mouth?" Steve teased. He shifted down the bed, squeezing James' sides with his knees. "Come on, Bucky. Just start off nice and slow."

"Fine." James gave his dick a few strokes, smoothing the lube over the condom. "Tell me if I'm doing this right."

"I will, _come on._ "

Wondering if his heart was going to beat out of his chest, James shifted forward so the tip of his dick was pressed against Steve's opening. He pushed forward just a fraction, letting Steve make the next move.

With a soft groan, Steve moved his hips and sank down. He was so tight, so hot, that James stopped breathing.

"It's good," Steve said, wrapping his hand around James' arm as his eyes rolled shut. "Bucky, that's… you… _yes._ "

"Steve," James whispered. This was a perfect moment, right here, just the two of them, coming together.

Then Steve was moving again. "Come _on_ ," he urged, lifting his hips. "Are you gonna make me do all the work?"

"Isn't that what all that cardio is for?" James asked as he leaned forward. This was so much better, almost lying on top of Steve, Steve's legs around his waist, the slow hot drag of Steve's body around James' dick. He had never felt such intense sensation in his life. _"Fuck."_

Steve put his hands on James' shoulders, pulling him close. "I'm _trying_ to." He ground down on James, sliding even deeper. His mouth fell open as he let out a moan.

James steadied himself on his elbow, digging his toes into the mattress and praying he didn't overbalance. "It's good?" he breathed as he pushed in. The slick slide into Steve's body was making him lightheaded. His body knew what it wanted to do, but James needed to make sure Steve was okay; he was so tight.

Steve breathed heavily, his eyes half-closed. "It's good," he whispered. "So good, just like that."

"Okay." James rocked his hips back and forth, letting the slide and drag overwhelm him as he moved inside Steve. Slowly, slowly, he worked his way deeper, with Steve relaxing around him. After what felt like an eternity, James slid that last fraction, sinking his whole length into Steve.

Steve let out another breathy groan as James pressed against him fully, his arms going around James' back. "God, I wanted this for so long," he whispered into James' ear. "Bucky."

James turned his head to kiss Steve. He wasn't sure he could speak now even if he wanted to; his entire world was Steve – Steve's hands on his back, Steve's tongue in his mouth, Steve's body tight and fever-hot around his dick. He let Steve urge him into movement, sliding in and out slowly, at first, then thrusting harder. His hand held Steve's shoulder as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the world, outside the sensation of skin on skin, body against body.

After a few minutes, Steve broke the kiss. He was breathing hard, his skin flushed pink as he rocked back and forth on James' dick. "Right there," he gasped, moving one hand to grab the sheets. "Fuck, that's—right there, _there_."

Never let it be said James couldn't take direction. He doubled down, moving steadily, noting just when Steve's mouth fell open and he made those perfect breathy noises.

Steve's head went back. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "Right fucking _there_."

James propped himself up. If he was going to get Steve off, he was going to need his hand free. Hoping he didn't ruin the moment, James pushed in deep, making Steve swear again, then sat up so he was on his heels. Steve opened his eyes, startled.

"Hey," James said, giving Steve a grin as he started moving again. The angle was different, but from the glazed look in Steve's eyes, it was probably still having the desired effect. "How you doing?"

"Don't slow down," Steve ordered. He hooked a hand under each knee and pulled his legs apart, opening himself up. "Fuck me, I'm almost there."

James nearly came on the spot. "Jesus, Steve, give a guy a bit of warning," he gasped. He wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, stroking as he thrust into Steve. "You're so fucking amazing," he babbled as his body tensed.

Steve threw his head back and came with a shout, spurting messily all over his chest. The hot, tight clench around James' dick pulled James over the edge, and he came deep in Steve's body.

For a moment, everything was frozen. Then James had to let go of Steve's dick to steady himself, and Steve slowly let his legs fall down.

"Holy shit," James said when he had his breath back. "Holy fucking shit."

Steve lay panting, eyes unfocused. "I… I… ugh."

"Yeah." James breathed another few moments. When he felt he could sit up unsupported, he took hold of the base of the condom and pulled out slowly. Steve made a noise, but otherwise didn't move.

Thankfully, the box of tissues was in arms' reach on the bedside table. James dealt with the condom in a few efficient movements, then flopped down on the bed beside Steve.

With a groan Steve rolled onto his side. "Bucky," he murmured. "If that was your first time doing that, I think our tenth time might just kill me."

James stared up at the ceiling. "When?"

Steve put his hand on James' stomach. "Huh?"

Blinking, James rolled his head to look at Steve. "You said, our tenth time. When's that going to be?"

Steve smiled, wiggling forward to put his cheek on James' shoulder. "I can usually get it up once an hour, and we don't have to get the kids until three…"

James couldn't stop the euphoria from bubbling from his lips in a laugh. "There is no way in hell I'm going to be able to do this four more times today."

"Hrm." Steve leaned in for a kiss. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Mmm." James relaxed into the kiss, a soft press of lips, slow and gentle. "No, really, four more times today might actually kill me."

"Then we'll have to go slow."

"Okay." James pulled Steve closer, marveling anew at the softness of his skin. "But… it was okay for you, right?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at James. "You're joking."

James licked his lips. "Uh, no."

"Bucky." Steve put his hand on James' jaw, running his thumb down James' cheek. It was such a delicate touch. "Bucky, that was perfect." He touched James' lips. "Everything with you is perfect."

James had to blink a few times. Everything was almost too much, like his feelings were going to spill outside his body if Steve so much as smiled at him. "I love you," James whispered.

Steve lay back down, cuddling against James. "Good," Steve replied with a little too much smugness. "Because I love you back."

James turned into Steve, closing his eyes. "Good," he agreed.

* * *

The rest of the day was so perfect, James kept wondering when everything was going to fall apart. He and Steve spent the next few hours in bed, and while they didn't make it to Steve's mythical number five, they did spend enough time experimenting that James' legs were weak when they finally went downstairs for lunch.

They ate standing at the counter, wearing whatever clothes they could pull on. James was almost too busy watching Steve eat and rant at the same time to chew his sandwich.

"All I'm sayin' " Steve said with his mouth full, "Is you wanna talk about the best baseball game around, it ain't with the Mets or the Yankees, it's the minor leagues. We should grab the kids and go out to Trenton to watch the Thunder play."

James put down his sandwich. "And I say you can't pay me enough to drive all the way out to the ass-crack of New Jersey with two screaming children who'd rather be eating ice cream."

Steve shoved more sandwich into his mouth. "They have ice cream at the ballpark," he said indistinctly. "Come on, it's even faster to take the train than it is to drive."

James batted away Steve's protest. "I ain't taking the train to Trenton. If you're dragging me out that far west, we can take the damned jeep and go see your dad on the way back."

Steve grinned with a full mouth. "That's a good idea!"

James poured himself another cup of coffee. "I know it is. And ain't it too late in the year for baseball?"

"Oh shit, yeah." Steve chewed for a while. "What other sports can we take the kids to watch?"

"Don't say football," James said.

"I won't. Why don't you like football?"

James rolled his eyes. "All football ever did to me was, whatcha call it, reinforce all that heteronormativity and toxic masculinity."

Steve stopped mid-chew. "Huh?"

James set his cup down. "Pretending to be straight in high school and in the Army, Steve, it was all about football." He poked at his sandwich. "I dunno. Maybe not in the Army. We ended up in Atlanta on leave enough doing other shit. Basketball's okay. Ain't it basketball season soon?"

"End of October." Steve put his sandwich down. "Bucky, if this conversation is making you feel weird…"

James shrugged. He still wasn't sure what Steve wanted him to say, sometimes. "I let my mouth run too much. Tell me to shut up if you want."

Steve came around the kitchen island to wrap James up in a loose embrace. "I never want you to shut up," he said. His blue eyes were very intense, but James didn't look away. "I always want to hear what you have to say, and the stuff you been through. If you want to tell me."

James sighed. Deliberately, he tapped his left arm stump against Steve's bicep, just to prove to himself that he could without Steve freaking out. "You know how it is, with a kid, sometimes you don't have a lot of places to stay stuff you think and then you run your mouth when you do."

Steve ran his hand over James' back. "I like it when you talk about stuff. You have an interesting outlook on things."

James shifted so he could lean back against the island, pulling Steve with him. "Interesting outlook, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm." Steve pressed his forehead against James'. "All these years, all that stuff you've been through… You're an interesting person."

"Interesting," James echoed. "Yeah, I guess getting my arm blown off in Iraq was interesting."

"That's not what I mean," Steve objected quietly. "You've been so many places, seen so many things. I want to hear all about it."

"You're ridiculous," James said as he slung his arm around Steve's neck.

"I'm in good company," Steve agreed. "Really, though, basketball?"

"I guess. The kids would probably rather play themselves than go watch a game."

"There is always that," Steve said with a sigh. "What about date nights?"

James slapped Steve on the back as he reached for his sandwich. "What are you talking about?"

"We should plan some date nights," Steve said. "We can see when Skye is free, then go out and do something."

James bit into a chunk of pastrami. "Do you want to go watch a game or something?" he asked slowly.

"Well, uh, not really. Unless you want to."

"Nah." James swapped out his sandwich for coffee again. "We could grab dinner or something, that was nice."

"It was," Steve said with a smile. "How would you feel about seeing if Skye can take the kids out during the day on a weekend? It might be better for her schedule, and we could just chill around here for a while."

"Huh." James finished his coffee and went to put the cup in the sink. "Chill. So we could, what, work on projects?"

Some color rose in Steve's cheeks. "Yeah," he agreed. "Working on… projects. Around the house."

James looked Steve up and down. He was wearing black boxer-briefs and a skin-tight t-shirt out of James' closet, and as usual he looked perfect. "If you want to work on a, uh, _project_ right now, I have just the thing."

Steve flushed some more. "Yeah?"

James walked over to Steve, putting his hand around Steve's neck while Steve automatically put his hands on James' waist. "If you want, we can head upstairs and you can help me with something that needs to get hung."

Steve's expression flickered. "Um."

James leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against Steve's. "There's a door on the third floor that's hanging crooked, and it's been bugging the crap out of me since I moved in."

Steve let his head fall back. " _Bucky_."

"Hey, you wanted to work on projects around the house," James said. He smacked Steve's butt on the way to tidy up the lunch dishes. "I got no end of projects around this place."

Steve cleared his throat. "How about we save that one for another day?" he suggested.

James grinned into the sink. "Anything you want," he said without turning around. From what he remembered from when they were kids, Steve was never any good with tools. "Any other ideas?"

"A few." Steve set down his plate by the sink. "We have a couple of hours before we have to pick up the kids. How about a walk along the water?"

James turned on the faucet. "That," he said, "Is the best idea I've heard all day."

Steve leaned against James, kissing his left shoulder. "Hey, Bucky," he said after a minute.

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy."

James reached up with a soapy hand to brush Steve's cheek. "Me too," he said.

He was _happy_.

* * *

The walk along Brooklyn Heights' waterfront wasn't long, but the meandering path through the streets of Brooklyn Heights took James and Steve to the school only a few minutes before pick-up time. "The kids who aren't going to after-school care get dumped on the playground for their parents to pick up, " James was explaining to Steve as they walked down the street. "It's a security thing, easier to manage the flow of traffic in that smaller space."

"Makes sense." Steve walked quietly for a few minutes. "Hey, I put you and Abraham down to pick up Clint in case I can't be around, is that okay?"

"Of course it is." James glanced over at Steve. "I put you down for Natasha. You and Maria."

Steve took a step towards James that made their shoulders bump together. "Good," he said quietly.

It wasn't until half a block later when James thought of something. "What about Sharon?"

Steve's jaw clenched. "I talked to her about it. She said it wasn't a good idea right now."

James frowned. "Wasn't a good idea?"

"No."

"And 'right now'?"

"That's what she said."

"Huh." James shifted his prosthetic hand absently. After the visit with Sharon to the house over the weekend, he had thought everything was going good with Clint's mother. "I guess that's that, then."

Steve was still clenching his jaw. "But what if something happens? I keep thinking about how Abraham's over an hour away by car."

James reached out to catch at Steve's arm, guiding him out of the flow of traffic. "Do you really want to play this game with me?" he asked. Steve crossed his arms over his chest but didn't speak. "Fine. You're talking to an expert in 'what-if'." He moved his prosthetic hand. "If something happens to you, then me or Abraham will take care of Clint. If you and me get knocked down at the same time, Abraham will come get Clint and Maria will make sure Natasha is taken care of. If me and Maria get mowed down at a job site, you can pick up Nat from school. If…" James was running out of hypotheticals. "If aliens attack Midtown when everyone's at work or something, then Clint and Natasha are on their own, I guess, but failing _that_ , we got a plan."

Steve looked away. "It's bugging me about Sharon," he finally said.

"Good. Fine." James hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should stick his foot into this any further, then decided he was all in anyway. "She told you she doesn't want to redo the custody agreement right now, didn't she? Maybe she's thinking that she's not in a place in her life where she'd be any good to him."

Steve uncrossed his arms to put his hands on his hips. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Steve, if she says she's not willing to pick Clint up at school in a pinch, then you find someone else who's willing to take responsibility for your kid. You got tonnes of friends. Maybe one of them?"

Steve pushed his hair back from his eyes, a very Clint-like gesture. "Yeah. Maybe." He heaved out a super-sized sigh. "Maybe Bruce. He doesn't have a car, but if he's at work he can always grab a company car."

"So ask Bruce." James glanced around, to make sure they weren't attracting too much attention, then reached out to touch Steve's wrist. "You got a lot of people who care about you, you and Clint both. Don't let your problems with Sharon make you forget that."

"Yeah."

"And I'm now officially checking out of this conversation about your ex," James went on. "Come on, the kids are getting out soon."

"Fine." Steve followed James down the sidewalk. "Do we have to talk about Sharon any more?"

"Nope," James said immediately. "Unless you want to."

Steve coughed. "Kinda don't."

"Then we don't." James slowed his pace until Steve was beside him. "How do you think the kids did today?"

The distraction worked; Steve brightened up instantly. "We didn't get any calls, so hopefully well. I wonder what Clint's favourite subject was."

"Last year, Nat's favorite subject on Tuesdays was always recess," James said. "On Thursdays, it was reading. I could never figure out why."

"Sort of like how you hated math on Mondays, but it was okay on Wednesdays?"

James threw a puzzled look at Steve. "What?"

"Fourth grade."

"Oh." James sent his mind back to his childhood, only he came up with a blank. "If you say so."

"Like father, like daughter, huh?"

James elbowed Steve in the ribs as they turned the last corner. "Me and Natasha are nothing alike."

Steve poked James in the side. "She's exactly like you, and it's awesome."

"Poor kid."

Together with a stream of other parents, James and Steve walked up to St. Ursula's playground gates. Some of the teachers were there, greeting parents as they went inside, but James didn't see Mr. Logan. He wondered if everything was okay.

"Hey, it's Ms. Green," Steve said in an undertone. "I wonder who she's looking for."

James turned his head. There was the school's principal, scanning the crowd with an intent expression. "Poor suckers," James murmured. "Getting called into the principal's office on the first day of school for something their kid did."

Then Ms. Green's eyes landed on him and Steve.

_Shit._

"Is it too late to leave?" James asked as Ms. Green began making her way towards them.

"Goddamnit," Steve muttered. "Maybe she's coming to tell us how great the kids did."

"Yeah, sure, and I'm about to do cartwheels down the sidewalk." James straightened his shoulders, feeling himself fall back into his business persona as Ms. Green stopped in front of them. "Ms. Green."

"Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers," the woman said. "Might I have a few minutes of your time?"

"Of course," James said, thinking furiously. They hadn't been called, and the principal didn't seem anxious, so there was probably no chance that either of the children was hurt. Maybe there had been a meltdown (Clint) or some pushing on the playground (Natasha). Just a great way to start a new year at school.

Ms. Green guided them into the school. "Would you like to go to my office?"

Before James could reply, Steve said, "No." He winced. "No, thank you, I mean. I want to see Clint. What happened?"

"Let's go to Mr. Logan's class." Ms. Green escorted them through the hallways. "There was an incident on the playground during afternoon recess."

"Are the kids okay?" Steve demanded. "Clint and Natasha?"

"Yes," said Ms. Green, in the tone of someone who was used to calming overanxious parents. "Physically, they're fine."

James held in a groan. This sounded like an emotional breakdown on one or both children's parts. He should have made sure they had gotten more sleep the previous night, had a healthier breakfast, something.

Steve, however, was working himself up. "What happened to my son?" he asked.

Ms. Green took a breath. "As far as we can gather, there was an altercation on the playground between Clint and an older boy. This boy took something of Clint's and threw it up onto the climbing wall."

With any other child, James would just assume hurt feelings. But he knew Clint, had seen Clint's propensity to climb any surface at the drop of a hat, and his heart fell. "He went up after it, didn't he?" James demanded. "Is he okay?"

"Yes." Ms. Green's answer was firm. "He did manage to make it through the locked gate and up the wall without anyone noticing him."

"Oh my god," Steve muttered. He put on a burst of speed, nearly sprinting ahead of the others on his way to Mr. Logan's class.

James had seen the school's climbing wall, locked up tight behind the gym, and he felt a little queasy. It was too high for a grown man to climb easily, let alone a little boy like Clint. "Did he get down okay? Did someone go up after him?"

"Clint climbed down on his own while Mr. Logan was looking for the gate key," Ms. Green said. "He nearly gave every teacher on the playground a heart attack."

"He's better at climbing down than up," James said absently. "Oh, geeze."

"Yes."

They walked into Mr. Logan's classroom, into a scene of chaos. There were only a few people there, but with so much noise, the room seemed crowded. Steve was kneeling down beside Clint, trying to talk to him, but Clint was talking loudly and Natasha was jumping up and down and talking a mile a minute. Mr. Logan was attempting to speak to Steve, and the only point of quiet was a small dark-haired girl at a desk, wearing a set of huge headphones and coloring, ignoring the scene.

"Jesus Christ," James muttered.

Clint's howl rose over the hubbub. "I don't want to be in trouble!" he wailed. "Mr. Logan said I wasn't in trouble!"

Mr. Logan said, "What I meant was—" at the same time as Steve said, "Clint, what happened, why did you—" and Natasha gave another bounce and shouted, "Adam is mean and I am gonna kick him up the bum!"

Clint, red-faced and flustered, gave an inhuman shriek as he pulled his jacket up over his head and sat down on the floor.

James didn't even think. He just stood straight and let out a whistle. This shocked most of the room into a momentary silence. "All right," he shouted, striding forward. "Let's all take a knee and figure this out, all right?"

James' first action was to kneel beside Natasha and wrap her up in a hug to keep her still. "Daddy—" she started.

"Let's go in turn," James interrupted gently. "I think we should hear from Clint what happened."

Steve took in a steadying breath. "I think Bucky's right," he said in a voice of suppressed emotion. "Clint. Come on, take that jacket off your head."

"No!" Clint wailed.

"Clint," said Mr. Logan. "Let's talk this out."

Slowly, Clint removed his jacket from his head. He had angry tears in his eyes and a very stubborn expression as he crossed his arms over his chest.

James spared a glance at the little girl, sitting at the desks. She was still concentrating on her drawing.

"Clint," Steve said again.

"I wasn't being bad!" Clint burst out. "The boy stole my bandana, my purple birthday bandana, that Natasha gave to me! And he threw it on the roof! I had to get it back!"

"Why didn't you go ask a teacher for help?" Steve asked.

Clint clenched his hands into fists. "I didn't want my bandana to get _thrown away_!"

"Clint told me something happened with his teacher last year about an eraser," said Mr. Logan. "I told him that none of his stuff would be thrown away while he's in my class. He's also promised to not go back to the climbing wall without a teacher."

Clint huffed.

Natasha, vibrating like a hummingbird, tugged at James' collar. "Can I talk now, Daddy?" she demanded.

"Sure, Nat, go ahead."

Natasha tried to jump forward, but James held on to her. "Clint was so fast!" she squealed. "He climbed all the way up to the top and he didn't even get scared! And he got his bandana and then he waved at me and at Saanvi—" she pointed to the other little girl in the room. "That's Saanvi. And then Miss Doreen came over and she saw Clint and she yelled and Clint climbed all the way down then Mr. Logan came and unlocked the gate and went and got Clint and it was so cool!"

Clint looked fractionally less disgruntled. "Ricky said I was _cool_."

"Clint," Steve said, then stopped. He looked over at Mr. Logan and Ms. Green. "Is Clint going to be disciplined by the school?"

"Not this time," said Ms. Green. "He's promised he won't do it again."

"So, now what?" James asked as he cautiously let Natasha go. She stayed put, still holding his collar. "We head home and see you tomorrow?"

Ms. Green hesitated. "I would like to speak with Mr. Rogers for a few minutes," she said. "If you don't mind."

"Yeah, give me a minute." Steve pulled Clint around gently. The boy stuck out his lower lip and stared at the ground. "Oh, buddy." Steve smoothed Clint's hair down, then straightened his glasses. "Can you hang out with Bucky for a minute?"

Clint nodded and sniffled. When Steve stood, Clint took three angry steps over to James and leaned against him.

"Hey," said James as Steve walked over to huddle with Ms. Green and Mr. Logan. "You okay?"

Clint shook his head.

"What's up?"

Clint sniffled again. "My head hurts."

"Oh dear," James said. He put his prosthetic arm around Clint, and his right arm around Natasha, hauling them both in for a hug. "Did you bop your head on something?"

"No," Clint said. He rested his head on James' shoulder. "I read too much."

"Yeah, me too," Natasha boasted. "But my head doesn't hurt."

"Maybe tomorrow will be better," James suggested.

"But I still gotta read," Clint said. "I asked Mr. Logan. I gotta read _every day_."

"For the rest of your life," James agreed. Clint made a face. "But you also get to draw, and play on the playground, and make friends."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed. "Tomorrow, when we come to school, we will be friends with Saanvi again!"

James glanced over at the other little girl. "Do you want to introduce me to your new friend?"

"No." Natasha scratched her cheek. "Mr. Logan said, when Saanvi has her headphones, we leave her alone."

"Saanvi wears them when it's too loud," Clint put in. "I wish I had headphones. My hearing aid is _dumb_."

"Your hearing aid isn't dumb," James said. "Now how about we get your stuff and get ready to go?"

Natasha immediately bounced away, but it took Clint longer to pull back. While Natasha flittered around the classroom, retrieving her backpack and some things from her desk, Clint drooped and dragged himself over to the coatrack.

James cast his eyes heavenward, praying for sanity.

"Daddy," Natasha said, bouncing at his side. "Can I come back to school tomorrow?"

James turned his focus on his daughter. "You sure can," he said. "I'm counting on it."

"Good!" Natasha shoved her backpack at him. "Let's go!"

"In a minute, sweet pea." James held the backpack straps while Natasha pulled it on. "Clint's moving a bit slower than you."

"Okay." Natasha reached for James' hand. "Daddy, Miss Doreen has a squirrel. His name is Tippy Toe."

James blinked. "Who's Miss Doreen?"

"She's the other teacher with Mr. Logan. She's neat! She has green fingernail polish and she was late for school today!"

There was no evidence of another teacher in the room. James supposed she was taking care of playground pickup. "I guess I'll meet her tomorrow."

"She's not as neat as Skye," Natasha went on, playing with James' fingers while she watched Clint shuffle back to the desks. "Skye's still my favourite."

"I love Skye," Clint declared as he put his backpack on his desk. "I want to marry her."

"You can't get married until you're at least twenty-five," James said. "Let's see, do you have everything?"

"Uh huh." Clint peered into his backpack.

"Where's your bandana?"

Clint pulled the rumpled fabric out of his left pocket to show James, then shoved it back in.

"Any homework today?"

"Mr. Logan said we have to write down our three favourite colors," Natasha said. "And if you want to draw a picture, you can."

"That sounds like fun."

"I already did it," Clint said. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his backpack. On it, was the word _purple_ written in three different colors.

"I, uh…" James let it go. They'd deal with it once they got the children home.

Across the desks, the other little girl was taking off her headphones. "Horses can't see red," she said, looking at her drawing.

"Why not?" Natasha demanded.

The little girl shrugged. "I can see red."

"I like red," Natasha said.

"I like blue," the little girl said.

"I like purple," contributed Clint. "Purple and black. Like my bow." He looked up at James. "Can I bring my bow to show everyone?"

"We'll talk to Mr. Logan about that," James deflected. He didn't want Clint to have another meltdown in the middle of the classroom if he was told he couldn't bring a deadly weapon to his first grade class's show and tell. "Let's go get Steve and head out."

"Okay." Natasha turned to the little girl. "Bye, Saanvi. We can be friends tomorrow."

"Yeah, bye," Clint echoed. "Thanks for being my friend today."

Saanvi reached for another crayon. "Horses spend time with their friends every day," she said.

"Cool." Natasha dragged James over to where the other adults in the room were still huddled. Clint was pulled along reluctantly after them.

At their approach, Steve stopped whatever he was saying. "Thanks again," he said, and shook hands with Ms. Green and Mr. Logan. "I'll talk to him."

"Thank you." Ms. Green looked down at Clint. "Thank you for coming to school today, Clint."

Clint wriggled under her gaze. "Am I gonna be in trouble tomorrow too?" he asked.

"That's up to you," the principal said. "Remember your promise to not go to the climbing wall again, and be nice to your classmates, and I'm sure you're going to have a great day."

"Me too?" Natasha asked hopefully.

Ms. Green turned to the girl. "As long as you remember that at this school, there is no hitting or kicking," she said. "We solve our problems with words. So no kicking anyone on the playground."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "What if mean boys try to take Clint's bandana again?" she demanded.

"That won't happen," said Ms. Green.

"What if it does?" Natasha objected.

"Then you come tell a teacher," interrupted Mr. Logan. "Okay?"

Natasha deflated. "Okay," she muttered.

"Come on," said Steve, still looking less than happy. "Why don't we head out?"

"Good idea." With one last nod to the teachers, James corralled Clint and Natasha out of the classroom, Steve on his heels. "Time to go home."

Walking through the hallways was complicated by Clint, who was twisting and turning, trying to look behind them. It took James a little too long to realize that Clint was looking apprehensively at his father. Glancing over his shoulder, James saw Steve's frown and closed-off expression.

James cleared his throat. Steve was startled enough into looking up, first to James, then down to Clint. His whole demeanour changed. "Hey, buddy," Steve said. "Come here for a sec."

Clint let go of James' hand to jump at his father, and Steve swept the boy up in a big hug. James and Natasha paused to watch.

"Oh, buddy, you scared me so much," Steve said quietly.

"Are you mad?" Clint asked as clearly as he could, his face squished against Steve's neck.

"No, I'm not mad." Steve squeezed Clint for another moment, then let Clint sit up on his arm. "We're going to have to have a real long talk, but I'm not mad."

Clint lit up with a huge smile, and hugged his father again. Steve looked over at James.

"Would you mind if me and Clint had a few minutes?" he asked.

"Of course not," James replied. "Do you want to come home when you're ready? Or," he added as inspiration struck. "Me and Nat can go get the jeep, come back and get you two. Should be about half an hour."

"That sounds good," Steve said. "Maybe we can meet you at that coffee shop you mentioned earlier?"

"Good plan." James briefly outlined where to find the small bakery. "I'll text you when we're about to get in the car."

"Thanks," Steve said, holding Clint tight.

They looked at each other, words unspoken but unnecessary, then James let himself be dragged out of the school by Natasha.

Natasha bounced and hopped for two blocks, singing to herself. James was content to walk with her, soaking in her energy and happiness.

Finally, when they paused at a light, Natasha said, "Daddy, I'm thinking a lot of thoughts in my head."

"You are?"

"Uh huh." Natasha twisted in place. "I didn't think I'd make a friend today!"

"You're talking about that girl who talks about horses, right?"

"Yeah. She held Clint's hand in the assembly line and I was _mad_ , but then at recess she said we were friends." Natasha nodded. "All three of us."

James digested this. "If you're all friends now, will you be mad if she holds Clint's hand again?" he asked.

Natasha considered for half a block. "No. But he has to hold my hand too."

Given Natasha's jealousy issues around Clint, this sounded like incremental progress. Still, James had to say, "Remember to ask Clint if he wants to hold hands first, all right?"

"Okay." Then Natasha launched into a long and meandering story about the day's science class, in which Mr. Logan told them all about how the human voice worked, and how they practiced making sounds. "And then we said hello in all the languages!" Natasha concluded with a cheer. "Now I can say hi to _anyone_."

"Very neat." James guided Natasha across a street. "That's why I liked learning languages when I was in the Army."

"Daddy," Natasha said. "Can you talk in languages?" Her eyes were very wide.

"Yes, pumpkin." James bopped her nose, just because. Natasha laughed. "When we went to get your uniform, I spoke Russian to Mrs. Petreykina."

"Oh yeah," Natasha said wonderingly. "Say a thing to me in languages."

"Hmm. Okay." Clearing his throat, James said in Russian, " _Natasha, you are sunshine and rainbows_."

Natasha laughed.

Switching to Spanish, James went on, " _I hope you are happy forever._ "

"Yeah!" Natasha shouted. "What did you say?"

"I said very nice things," James told her. "Now, let's hurry up so we can go get Steve and Clint."

When they got home, James unlocked the door for long enough to grab his keys and to let Natasha leave her backpack on the sofa. He sent Steve a quick text of _on the way_ before they headed to the car, and James could start the laborious process of driving across Brooklyn in afternoon traffic.

"Daddy," Natasha said as James was attempting to turn left. "Clint climbed a wall today and he got in trouble."

James grabbed the steering wheel knob as he concentrated on the traffic. "Clint didn't get in trouble. He got a talking-to about consequences." Seeing an opening in the cars, James floored it.

"He thought he got in trouble."

"Well, next time he'll know he shouldn't go through locked gates and climb walls."

A suspicious silence from the backseat went on for long enough that James glanced in the rear-view mirror to make sure Natasha hadn't fallen asleep. She met his gaze. "Daddy," Natasha said. "I told Clint he should go get a teacher."

 _Ah_. James looked back at the road. "Is that because you knew Clint shouldn't be climbing that wall?"

More silence, then, "Maybe."

James sighed. "You know, I had an idea that you both knew that Clint shouldn't have climbed that wall."

"But Clint can climb so good!" Natasha objected. "And why else is it there?"

"First off, when the older kids use the climbing wall, they have safety gear and teachers to watch them," James said. "When grown-ups climb walls, they have ropes and harnesses to catch them in case they fall." James pressed the button to activate his right turn signal. "And Clint might be a great climber, but remember how he fell at the playground this summer?"

"Yeah," Natasha whispered. "That was scary."

"It sure was." James slowed for a red light. "It's okay to try new things, Nat. Me and Steve, we want you and Clint to try all sorts of new things. It's just that if it's a thing that might be dangerous, we want to make sure you're safe."

"Because safety first!" Natasha shouted.

"Yes." James accelerated, keeping an eye out for a parking spot. "Like when you when swimming the first time. Steve went with you to keep you safe."

"I remember now," Natasha mused.

"Exactly." James had spotted an open space by the curb, so he hit the mental pause button to concentrate on parallel parking. But the jeep wasn't large, not like the big vans he'd learned how to parallel park in as a kid, and in a few moments the jeep was safely resting in its temporary spot. "We made it."

"You did that good," Natasha observed as she started to unbuckle her seatbelt. "You didn't hit the curb _at all_."

James sighed. He hadn't hit the curb with Natasha in the car in over a year, but of course his daughter remembered that one time. "Thanks, rainbow."

"No, don't call me that," Natasha said.

James got out of the jeep and went around to let Natasha out of the backseat. "What should I call you?"

Natasha hopped to the ground and struck a superhero pose. "Supergirl!" she declared. Then she let her hands drop from her hips. "I'm Supergirl now because I'm almost six. When I'm eight, I can be _Superwoman_."

James held out his hand as they started walking. "How about Wonder Woman? She's cool."

"I don't know her," Natasha confessed.

"Wonder Woman is the _best_ ," James said, drawing a grin to Natasha's face. "She has a shield, and an invisible airplane, and she's real strong."

"Does she like dinosaurs?" Natasha asked, and the rest of the short walk was taken up with a serious discussion of Wonder Woman's affinity to the Jurassic kingdom.

Steve and Clint had a table in the small bakery's café section. Clint had divested himself of his St. Ursula's jacket and was blowing bubbles into a glass of water through a bright blue straw. Steve looked exhausted, but calmer than he had in the school.

Natasha ran up to the table. "Steve," she said, "Can I have a snack?"

"You both can," Steve said. "Why don't you go look at the display case and I'll be right there in a minute."

Clint stopped messing around with his water glass to follow Natasha over to the front. James kept a wary eye out, but the children were well behaved, looking and talking but not making a scene, so James shifted his attention to Steve. "You okay?"

Steve ran his hand over his face. "Jesus, Bucky, I never thought he'd do something so dangerous."

"You two talked it out?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his face again. "I should go…" He gestured at the children.

"I got it," James said firmly. "Sit. You want another coffee?"

"No. But thanks."

Very briefly, James touched Steve's shoulder, then he walked over to where Clint and Natasha were staring open-mouthed at the pastries. There was an in-depth discussion on the types of food available, then James stepped up to the counter to order. Natasha and Clint clung to the counter, standing on their toes to see as the cashier put two small treats onto plates, and took James' money with a promise that their drinks would be brought out.

James handed the children their plates, then had to bite his lip as they walked precariously across the café to the table. Luckily, nothing was dropped, and Clint and Natasha were soon chewing happily at their after-school snacks.

In a few minutes, a server brought over James' latte and the children's steamed milks. While the children were occupied, James leaned close to Steve and said, "What did Ms. Green want to talk to you about, anyway?"

Steve was watching his son slurp at his drink. "She told me they were going to fix the gate so it's locked directly, not just on a chain. And they're going to make a sign about needing teacher supervision."

James took a sip of his latte. "A school with that many kids, you would have thought that they'd have done that already."

Steve was still watching Clint. "He told me that before everything started at recess, he was going to climb the big fence and come home early, because his head hurt."

"Oh." James set his cup down. "Someone probably would have spotted him."

"Not the point." Steve rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what I can do to make him stop trying to run away."

"We'll figure something out."

"Yeah." Steve sat back. "How's Natasha?"

"She had a good day," James said. Across the table, Natasha had a corner of her croissant in her mouth and was making it waggle. Clint was laughing. "She's happy she made a new friend."

"Yeah, Clint mentioned the kid. Says she likes horses." Steve reached for James' latte. "What are we going to do after this?"

"P-A-R-K?" James suggested. "Don't know what you want to do about dinner." He hesitated. "I know you said earlier you wanted to stay at my place tonight, but with everything, you think you want me to drive you two home?"

Steve looked at James and held his gaze for a very long moment. "No," he said. "I think we want to go home with you guys tonight."

James had a hard time breathing around the lump in his throat. _Home_. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, that's… yeah."

Steve smiled. "Yeah."

Natasha shoved the last of her croissant into her mouth. "Daddy," she said. "Can we go to the playground?"

James handed Natasha a napkin. "When you're done your milk and snacks, then yes."

He sat back to watch the children finish their milk. As much as he had spent most of the last hour trying to reassure both Steve and Natasha that Clint was okay, he couldn't shake the feeling that they had narrowly dodged a bullet. So much could have happened differently; if Clint had accidentally slipped, if he'd fallen all that way to the hard pavement…

An echo swam through James' mind, of the feeling he'd had while standing at the playground where Clint had hit his head earlier that summer. Then, looking at a tiny spot of blood on a metal edging, James had had the strongest impression of a child in a hospital bed, lying motionless and still, close to death. Now, weeks later, that impression slammed back into him so strongly he felt sick.

"Bucky?" Steve said, touching James' hand.

James forced out a smile. "I'm fine," he said. Steve didn't need to hear about James' worries, not when it came to their children. "Someone's walking over my grave, that's all."

That was all, James repeated to himself.

Everyone was going to be just _fine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! Don't forget to read [**The Many Adventures of Clint Barton Rogers: The First Day of School**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11785020), which gives Clint's side of the whole thing. 
> 
> See you next time!


	31. Come Rain or Come Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: [Come Rain or Come Shine – Wynton Kelly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e65saqhrSc)

Steve yawned. "What time is it?"

James glanced over at the clock on the stereo, rubbing at his left shoulder. The pull from his prosthetic had sharpened into pain over dinner, and James had taken the arm off before helping Steve with the dishes. "Nearly eleven."

Steve yawned again. "Maybe we should get to bed," he suggested. "It's a school night."

"Maybe." James picked up his phone from the coffee table. He and Steve had been watching television for a bit, ostensibly to wind down after a long and chaotic first day of school, but they'd both been concentrating more on each other than the screen. "I don't have to be up until seven, that's practically sleeping in."

Steve rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know what I'm going to do to get Clint up in the mornings when we're leaving from our place."

James flicked through his calendar. "It's what, forty minutes on the Q to get to school? That's not much longer than it takes to walk from here."

Steve snuggled down on the couch beside James, his head resting against James' neck. "You have no idea of the struggles I have with that little monkey upstairs. Even getting him here this summer to see Skye was a nightmare."

James put his phone down, then draped his arm over Steve's shoulders. "Congratulations, you've got yourself a teenager," he said against Steve's hair. Steve groaned. "Come on, he'll be fine, once everything settles down."

"I hope so." Steve put his arm over James' stomach. "Maybe let's just stay here for a few minutes."

"Okay." James closed his eyes. This was just so perfect – the kids upstairs asleep, him and Steve on the downstairs couch, Steve all sleepy and cuddly and curled up around him. James knew he could be selfish, but he wanted this feeling to last forever.

But Steve had his own place and his own life outside of James, and James couldn't demand more of Steve just because he was in love.

_In love._

James kissed the top of Steve's head. "Thanks for today," he said in a quiet voice.

"I should be thanking you," Steve replied, squeezing James just a little tighter. "You're everything I need."

James closed his eyes. "Me too," he whispered.

Steve kept holding James for a long time. Finally, he said, "You remember when we were eleven, and we used to get those huge slushies and drink them in the park so fast we got brain-freeze?"

"Yeah. Why're you thinkin' about that?"

"I dunno." Steve ran his hand over James' hip, down his thigh. "I guess maybe I've been thinking about being a kid, these last few days. That's one of the things I think about, sometimes, just you and me back then drinking massive slushies and getting brain-freeze over and over."

James opened his eyes. He hadn't thought about those days in a long time, but now that Steve had brought it up, James could picture the two of them sitting on the benches near the swing set, too old to play on the playground, but not too old to make dumb jokes and drink enough sugar to wire them up for hours.

After Steve had been adopted by Abraham and gone off to New Jersey, James mother hadn't let him go down to the corner store on his own. It wasn't safe, she said.

James stared across the room, to where the kids had piled their library books in an untidy heap before dinner. "I think I like it better now," he said after a long time. "You and me. We got stuff of our own now, the kids and everything."

"Yeah." Steve sat up. He looked rumpled and sleepy and just perfect. "But we're still best friends, and that's all what matters most."

The warm glow in James' chest spiked into a fire of happiness. "Damn, Steve, you can't just say shit like that," James said, feeling himself blush.

"I'll say it every day." Steve leaned in to kiss the corner of James' mouth. "You're my best friend and I love you."

"Oh yeah?" James turned his head and caught Steve's mouth in a brief kiss. "Same here."

There was a creak overhead. James went still, listening. "What—" Steve started.

"Shh." James listened harder. In the quiet of the house, he could hear tiny footsteps creeping down the upstairs hallway.

"Oh." Steve sat back. "Bathroom trip?"

"Maybe." James turned to the stairs, trying to figure out the direction of the footsteps.

Then, into the stillness, came a tiny voice. "Daddy?"

James sighed. "You're up," Steve said.

"Of course." James levered himself to his feet. "I'm coming, Natasha."

When James got to the foot of the stairs, he could see his daughter crouching up on the landing, Bear held tight in her arms. "Daddy, hurry," Natasha whispered. "Bear had a bad dream."

"Oh dear." James climbed the stairs. At the top he sat on the last step, and Natasha jumped into his arms. "That's no good, Bear having a bad dream."

Natasha's fingers clutched tight at James' shirt. "It was bad," she said against James' neck. "Bear dreamed that Dr. Snapples climbed up a tree and she fell down and she got squished and she died."

James put his hand on the back of Natasha's head. "That's a really bad dream," he commiserated. "That must have been really scary for Bear."

"It was," Natasha said. "Bear doesn't want to go back to sleep. _Ever_."

James sighed. "Then Bear's going to be tired in bear school tomorrow." He moved his arm down to support Natasha's body. "Come on, let's go back to bed. Hold tight."

Natasha clutched at his neck as James slowly stood. He carried the little girl down the hall, past Clint's bedroom where the door stood open. James paused.

"Hey, look," James whispered. Natasha shifted around. "Clint's sound asleep. He had a busy day today."

Natasha exhaled noisily. "Yeah."

"You both have another busy day tomorrow," James went on, continuing down the hall. "You'll get to see your teachers, and that new friend of yours, and you'll have snacks and recess and all kinds of fun. But first you have to go to sleep."

Inside Natasha's room, James slowly lowered Natasha onto her bed. She shimmied around, clutching Bear tight as James turned on the bedside lamp. "I can't, Daddy," Natasha said passionately. "If Bear can't sleep, then _I_ can't sleep."

James sat down on the floor beside Natasha's bed. "Why can't Bear sleep?" he asked.

Natasha stared at him with wide green eyes. "Because I told you! Bear had a scary dream!" she said crossly. "And he got scared and he doesn't want to get scared again!"

"Hush," James said automatically. "If we use our bedtime voices, maybe we can convince Bear to give sleep a try, what do you think?"

Natasha's frown deepened. "No!" she said in a savage whisper.

"Okay." He and Natasha had been through nights like this before; she'd get upset or have a bad dream, and James had to sit up half the night because 'Bear' was scared. "Well, if Bear had a bad dream about Dr. Snapples, then the first thing we need is Dr. Snapples. Where is she?"

Natasha pointed to the floor where her stuffed animal menagerie lay. James dug around for a while until he found the small stuffed koala underneath the twin penguins. Sitting back up, James kissed Dr. Snapples on the head, then set her on the bed. Instantly, Natasha snatched the toy up and clutched her close to Bear.

"There we go," James said. He moved back over to the bed. "Now Bear can see that Dr. Snapples is okay. Do you think he'll be able to sleep now?"

Natasha buried her face in Bear's worn fur. "No."

"Oh dear." James leaned against the bed. "Not even if he can see Dr. Snapples?"

"No."

"Huh." James waited until Natasha shuffled around to look at him. "You know, sweet pea, it sounds to me like Bear might be worried about something else. Something else that wasn't a dream."

Natasha shook her head.

James tried again. "It there's nothing bothering Bear, then is something bothering you?"

There was a long silence. Then Natasha sat up. "Miss Doreen's last name is Green."

James blinked at this seeming non sequitur. "Okay?"

"And Clint asked her if Ms. Green was her _mom_. And all the kids _laughed_ at him."

James frowned. "Why did they do that?"

Natasha got up on her knees. "Ricky said that Ms. Green is black so she can't be Miss Doreen's mom. Then I said that maybe she was adopted! But then Miss Doren said she wasn't adopted."

Finally, James found something he could hook onto. "Did that bother you?"

Natasha stuck her finger in her ear. "When you're adopted, anyone can be a family," she recited. "Director Fury told me that. Anybody."

"That's right," James said firmly. He tapped Natasha's knee. "And you're adopted, and you and me are a family."

Natasha pulled her finger out of her ear. "And Steve is adopted," she said solemnly. "Grandpa Abraham adopted Steve, and now Steve has a dad, and two sisters, and Clint."

"Yup." James turned his hand over. Natasha put her palm flat against his. "Steve was adopted by Abraham, and even though he's all grown up now, they're still a family. They'll always be a family."

Natasha looked at James' hand, poking at his fingers with hers. "And Clint is Steve's real son."

Something cold wiggled in James' stomach. "Hey," he said, pulling at Natasha's hands until she looked up at him. "Clint is Steve's biological son, and you're my adopted daughter. And both of us are your real dads, got it?"

Natasha yawned. "Okay."

Uneasy with Natasha's line of thought, James nudged Natasha's shoulder. "Come on, time to lie down and go to sleep."

"I don't wanna sleep," Natasha mumbled, but she flopped over and grabbed at Bear again.

James pulled the sheet up over her shoulders. "You can try," he said. "Like when you were at the sleepover and you forgot how to sleep. You just close your eyes and think about all the nice things that happened today."

Natasha tucked Bear's head under her chin. "Like at snack time when Saanvi gave me her cheese."

"Like then." James arranged the light blanket at Natasha's feet. "And when Mr. Logan said you did a great job on your homework."

"And when I got to spend all day with Clint." Natasha blinked sleepily. "I like having Clint in my class. He's my best friend."

"I know." James leaned over to kiss Natasha's forehead. "Now, sweet pea, you close your eyes and think about all those things in your head."

"Okay." Natasha snuggled down under the covers. "But what if Bear has another bad dream?"

James patted the top of Bear's head. "If Bear has another bad dream, you can come get me again," he said, all the while praying that Natasha would just _go to sleep_. "I'm going to bed in a few minutes too, it's really late."

Natasha sniffled. "Okay," she said again.

"I love you, sweet pea."

Natasha closed her eyes. "I know," she mumbled.

James brushed a strand of hair back from Natasha's cheek before he stood up. He turned off the bedside lamp, then tiptoed to the door. Natasha didn't call after him, so he carefully pulled the door closed behind him as he went into the hall.

There was soft movement downstairs. Rubbing his hand over his face, James slowly headed down the steps, back to the main level. The living room was empty, the television off. Stopping for a minute to pick up the empty mugs off the coffee table, James headed into the kitchen.

"Nat's down," he told Steve. "You ready to go to bed?"

"In a couple minutes," Steve said. He was standing at the sink, a half-drunk glass of water in his hand. "Did Clint wake up at all?"

"Nope." James checked the lock on the back door. "He's still sleeping."

"Good." Steve downed the rest of his water, then set his glass in the sink. "Hey, uh, Buck."

James tested the window latch. "Yeah?"

"I think maybe, tomorrow, me and Clint should head home after school. Give you and Natasha a little breathing room."

Oh. James tugged on the latch again, trying to swallow the sudden stab of disappointment. "Yeah, okay," he managed to get out. "If you want."

The kitchen was quiet for a long moment. "I…" Steve started, then stopped and let out a long huffed breath. "I don't want you to get sick of having us around."

This was enough to pull James around. Steve was hunched over the sink, staring down into the depths of the drain. "I won't," James said, a little too loudly. "I'm never going to get sick of having you here."

Steve looked up.

"Fuck," James muttered. He moved the two steps to Steve's side, putting his hand out. Steve was already reaching for him, and through no conscious effort on James' part, they swung around into a loose embrace. "Don't ever think I'll get sick of you, huh? Same as when we was kids."

Steve rested his cheek against James' shoulder, and once again James was struck by how someone could be so hard and so soft at the same time. "Me and Clint can be a lot to handle sometimes," he said quietly. "I don't want you to think we're not worth the trouble."

James ran his hand down Steve's side. "I ain't never going to think that," he promised. "Jesus, Steve, what happened when I was upstairs?"

Steve exhaled against James' shoulder, then slowly pulled back. His eyes were slightly red. "I was texting Kim."

James was confused. Steve's adoptive sister was out west, and while it wasn't quiet midnight in New York, it would be late in Oregon for someone to be texting. "What'd she say? Was she talking shit about us?"

"No." Steve turned into James' side, his arm going around James' shoulders. "She wanted to know if I was bringing you and Natasha to Abraham's house for Hanukkah, she wants to meet you. And then I started thinking, you know."

"About what?" James asked.

"About how great it would be," Steve went on. "All of us at Abraham's house, and you could meet my sisters. And before Abraham went back home on Sunday, he said…" Steve stopped and took a deep breath. "He said how great it was to see me with someone who treated me so good."

James was at an absolute loss for words.

"Like, it's not like Sharon ever treated me bad, or anyone else I dated," Steve hastened to add. "What Abraham said, he means that you and me, we fit together. And then when Kim texted me, I started thinking about us still being together in December, and then there's Christmas, and the New Year, and then I'm planning for our vacation next summer and I know I've been saying shit like I'm with you forever, but that's different than planning a family trip to New Jersey in December for Hanukkah and I just…"

"Freaked out?" James suggested. As Steve had been talking, the worry in James' chest had, for some reason, opened up into a warm glow of happiness and a _certainty_ that James had never felt before. "And figured that you needed to give me some space?"

Steve looked at James sidelong.

"If you need space, then take it, but I'm with you, okay?" James leaned in to kiss Steve's cheek. "If you want to bring me along to your dad's house for Hanukkah, then we're there. If you want to start planning a summer vacation in eleven months, and me and Natasha are part of that, then great." He kissed the corner of Steve's mouth. "Because I want you with me. Doesn't matter if we're here, or in New Jersey, or anywhere."

"Damn it, Bucky," Steve said as he put his arms around James again. "How are you so goddamned perfect?"

"I ain't perfect," James protested. "I'm a fucking mess."

"You're not a mess." Steve pulled back far enough to kiss James, a sudden, passionate kiss that took James' breath away. When they finally broke for air, Steve panted, "I love you."

"I love you back." James brushed the tip of his nose against Steve's. "Forever, and next week, and next year."

"Same." Steve reached up to cup James' jaw in his hand. "Maybe we should go to bed."

"Good idea." James gave Steve one last squeeze before stepping away. "I'll lock up. See you upstairs."

"Sounds good." With that, Steve left, casting lingering looks at James until he was out of sight. That gave James the space to start his nightly check of the house.

As he descended to the second level, the house was settling into quiet. After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth, James checked in on the children. Clint was still zonked out, and thankfully Natasha had drifted off again.

Steve was already in bed, sheets bunched around his knees, giving James a perfect view of the man's long body in the faded cotton of his sleep shirt and boxer-briefs. "Everything okay?" Steve asked.

James pulled the door closed behind him. "Of course." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper. "What time you gotta be at work tomorrow?"

"Not until nine," Steve said. He was staring at James as the man stripped. "The team is on shortened hours this week with school starting up."

"How many of them have kids?" James asked, kicking his way out of his pants.

"Some. But it didn't seem fair to make others work longer hours because they didn't have kids."

James snorted. "Socialist."

"Like you'd make Maria work longer hours because you have Natasha?"

"Fuck that." James reached for a clean t-shirt. "Like she's ever take that sort of crap from me."

"Smart lady." Steve shuffled over in bed as James sat down on the edge. "We good to walk the kids to school tomorrow?"

"Yup." James plugged the charging cord into his phone. "Hopefully tomorrow's a calmer day."

Steve sighed. "Could it get any worse?"

James pulled at the sheet as he lay down. "Clint and Natasha could steal a police car and try to drive off to Disneyworld."

"You're a funny man," Steve said with a deadpan expression.

"I'm hilarious." James turned out the light. "Come on, cuddle up."

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, but he curled up around James. "Does Natasha even know how to drive?"

"When has that ever stopped either of them?" James asked. He shifted his leg so Steve could roll more firmly on top of him. "They'll be fine tomorrow."

"I hope so." Steve shimmied in place, settling his arm over James' chest. He let out a long breath. "Depending on how tomorrow goes, I might take Clint home after school, to give him a little alone time."

"Okay." James relaxed, closing his eyes. "You do what you gotta do for your kid. I got it."

"Yeah." Steve went quiet for a long time, and James was almost asleep when Steve suddenly said, "I love you, Bucky."

James smiled into the dark. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearin' you say that," he mumbled.

"Good, 'cause I'm going to be saying it for a long time."

"Good."

James drifted off to sleep, Steve a warm, safe weight beside him.

* * *

"Daddy?"

James cracked open an eyelid. He felt like five miles of bad road. "Wha?"

Clint swam into focus in the dim pre-dawn light from the window. He had his glasses on, but he was still in his pajamas. "Is it time to go to school?" he whispered.

"Ugh." James rolled over to poke at a sleeping Steve. "Steve."

"Huh?"

"Daddy?" Clint tried again, and this pulled Steve upright before he was even awake. "Are we gonna be late for school?"

"No," Steve said automatically. "Wait, Clint, what time is it?"

Clint consulted his watch. "It is six o'ten," he announced.

Steve yawned. "You're not going to be late for school," he said as he shuffled around. "Come on, let's go make breakfast and leave James to sleep."

"Too late for that," James muttered into his pillow.

The bed dipped as Steve heaved himself to his feet. "Come on, cowboy, let's get at it." He scooped Clint up and over his shoulder, and together they headed out of the bedroom.

James pulled at the sheet. He'd close his eyes for five more minutes, he told himself. Just five minutes, and then he'd get up to help Steve.

Just five minutes.

* * *

_Poke poke._

"Daddy."

_Poke poke._

"Daddy."

James rolled away. "Stop it."

A huff, then, "Daddy, you are going to miss breakfast!" Natasha scolded.

James' eyes snapped open. He flipped over, grabbing for the clock. It was seven-thirteen. "Oh, crap," he muttered.

Natasha stamped her foot. "Daddy, I am _hungry_ ," she said. "And Steve said we can't eat until you come down!"

James sprang out of bed. In all the tumult of the previous evening, he had obviously forgotten to set his alarm. "I'll just be a minute," he said. "Go tell Steve you guys can start."

"Okay." Natasha turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

"And good morning!"

"Good morning, Daddy!" floated back down the hall.

Quickly, James stepped into his pants from the previous day. He'd have to change his shirt before going to drop Natasha off at school; luckily, he didn't have to leave for the city until later that morning, so he could come back home and shower then.

It was one hell of a day already.

James didn't bother shaving, just hustled to the kitchen. There, the children were sitting in their places, making their way through plates of scrambled eggs and toast. Steve was just pouring out two cups of coffee, and he looked up when James arrived.

"Morning," he said, smiling such a sunny smile that all of James' worries were knocked clean away. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." James went to grab one of the mugs, which let him lean surreptitiously against Steve's side. "You? How's Clint?"

"We're both good." Steve put his hand on James' lower back, out of sight from the children, for just one brief instant. "Come on, time for some breakfast."

"Daddy," Natasha said from the table. "Steve made scrambled eggs. They're better than _yours_."

"Good," James said as he carried his coffee to the table. "I'm glad you like them."

Natasha examined him from behind her toast. "Daddy, I'm going to school today."

James slurped at his coffee. "Good."

"Clint's going to come with me."

Clint gave a thumb's up, his mouth full.

"Even better." James sat back as Steve put a plate in front of him. "Hey, you didn't have to do that."

"Wasn't any problem," Steve said with a smile, sitting down with a plate of his own. "Eat, we have to go in a little bit."

"Daddy," Natasha said, drawing James' attention. "Am I going to dance class tomorrow?"

Digging into his breakfast, James started a solemn discussion of the children's extracurriculars, all of which began later in the month. Clint was slightly depressed that his archery class was moving to Wednesdays, but cheered slightly when Steve reminded him that he was going into the next ability bracket, which meant more challenging classes.

Even though James reminded Natasha three times that she was in swim class and therefore they couldn't fit in any more art classes until January, the girl whined all the way through breakfast. Conscious that Steve had to head to work right from the school, James took charge of the clean-up and got the children to clear the table, while Steve ran upstairs for a shower.

In the end, it was Clint who saved the day. "Natasha, we should do art class together," he said as he carefully placed a fork into the dishwasher, prongs up. "Because if we do art class together, we can talk about it."

Natasha stopped and puzzled this through. "If we do art class together," she said slowly, "Then you can see my art and I can see your art."

"Uh huh." Clint turned to take another fork off the plate James was holding. "But if you do art class on Wednesday, then I have archery class and I can't be there."

"And if you do an art class on Tuesday, then I have dance and can't be there," Natasha carried on the train of thought. "And Mondays we have swim class."

Clint placed the fork in the dishwasher. James held in a sigh of frustration at how incredibly _long_ this was taking. "And my Daddy said that we don't do anything after school on Friday because we gotta have free time for un-stuck-cherd play."

Natasha let out a massive sigh. "Okay," she said. "I won't do art class after school until you can do art class after school with me too."

Clint grinned at Natasha. "Hey, maybe we can do art in _school!"_ he suggested. "Maybe Mr. Logan will let us paint and stuff!"

Natasha punched the air, nearly knocking a glass off the counter. "Yeah!"

James had had as much as his nerves could stand. "Why don't you two go get dressed for school," he said. "We should get moving."

The children, never ones to linger on chores when they could be elsewhere, zoomed out of the kitchen. James loaded the dishwasher, quickly now without any "help".

"Hey, Bucky," Steve said as he came back into the room. "Need a hand?"

"Nah." James finished rinsing out the coffee carafe. "You ready to go?"

Steve nodded. Indeed, his hair was still damp and he looked freshly scrubbed under his suit. "I'll head off to the train right from the school." He rounded the island to lean against the counter. "What about you?"

James turned off the tap. "I don't have to be up town for my meeting until this afternoon," he said. "Maybe I'll run some errands, check in on a few things."

"Sounds like a plan." Steve reached out to put his hand on James' hip. "Actually, it sound really nice."

James shrugged. "Being a two-man shop ain't all that great," he said. "I told Maria if she covered for me yesterday, I'd take on her site visit out at Stony Brook tomorrow. Ain't going to be back in town until five." He made a face. "Nat's going to be furious I have to put her in after school club so early in the year."

"I can watch her," Steve said immediately. James turned to look at him. "I can pick up both Clint and Natasha, bring them here after school. We can go to the park and then get dinner ready, if you want."

James just kept looking at Steve. Could he? Could he ask Steve to watch Natasha after school while James was at work?

Never, in all of Natasha's years at preschool and then kindergarten, had James asked anyone else to pick Natasha up. Even when James had a fever back the previous March, he'd dragged his ass to the school to get Natasha, then managed to stay upright and conscious until she had gone to bed.

But Steve wasn't just anyone. He was one of the three people James trusted most in the world. And it helped that Natasha thought Steve was pretty neat too.

"Um," Steve said, and James realized he'd waited too long to say anything.

"No—I mean yes." James stepped in against Steve, putting his arm over Steve's shoulders. "Yes. If you could get Natasha when you get Clint, that would be really helpful, thanks."

Steve's face softened into a smile as he looped his arms around James' waist. "You know I'd do anything for the two of you."

"Yeah, I know." James leaned in for a kiss. "And same," he continued when they broke for air. "For you two."

"I know." Steve reached up to brush the hair back from James' forehead. "That's one of the reasons I love you."

James let out a breath. To hear Steve say stuff like that, in the day time, stirred up butterflies in his stomach but also sent a chill down his spine. He shoved all that away. He was an adult now, and he was in love with his best friend. The world had no say in how he lived his life; no one could take Natasha away from him, no one could kick him out of his own house.

And he wasn't ashamed.

"You know," James said, "I got a whole bunch of reasons why I love you."

"Oh yeah?" Steve ran his thumb over James' cheek. "A whole bunch?"

"Yeah," James said. "Maybe I'll make a list. With numbers. Maybe some bullet points."

"You gonna give me a sneak peek?"

"Hmm." James pretended to think. He could hear the children running around upstairs; soon he and Steve would need to return to their parental duties, but for now it was just the two of them. "Okay, here's a preview."

Instead of going in for another kiss, James put his arms around Steve in a hug, shifting up against him so their bodies fit together. _Just like we were made for each other_ , James thought in half-dizzy giddiness as Steve settled into the embrace.

"I like this," Steve said quietly, his voice a tickle on James' ear. "I could do this every day for the rest of my life."

James closed his eyes. "Sounds good to me."

They stood like that, breathing gently at each other, until the sound of an approaching stampede pulled them apart. Steve reached up to touch James' chin. "You got some scruff," he said.

"I'll shave when we get back," James said. "I can toss on a jacket and look presentable enough to drop my kid at the gates, yeah?"

Steve touched James' left side as he moved away. "You okay going out without the arm?"

James gestured with his left arm stump. "Yeah, it's better the kids see it early in the year," he said as the children ran screaming into the kitchen. "That was what Nick always told me. Kids don't think anything's weird if they see it often enough."

"Daddy!" Natasha screeched. "Braid my hair!"

"Daddy, I can't find my backpack!" Clint yelled.

Steve and James looked at each other. "When do we have to leave again?" Steve asked. 

"In three minutes," James said. "We better hustle."

They hustled.

* * *

In spite of the time crunch, the children got to school on time, Steve headed off for the train with only a few lingering looks, and James returned home to shower, shave, and arm himself. He and Maria had a meeting that afternoon in Manhattan to go over some final planning details of a project that had been months in the making, but nothing required his attention that morning.

Out of boredom more than anything else, James dressed in one of his best suits, grabbed his briefcase, and hauled himself out to the jeep for the short drive into the city.

The drive into Manhattan was slow but uneventful. James parked in an all-day garage before heading off on foot into the chaos of midtown.

First, James stopped in at a coffee shop to review that afternoon's client plans for a while, sipping at an espresso stronger than anything Dernier had made in Iraq. Then he walked up to the bookstore where he'd ordered Clint's archery book, and was pleased to find that they had finally received the order. While he waited for the clerk to get the package from the back, he picked out a book from the recommended shelf for Natasha, for he knew his daughter would throw a fit if Clint got a present while she received nothing. He also grabbed a few small items to surprise the kids; a harmonica, a bouncy ball, a small slinky. It was only after he had paid up and was out on the street that he realized he would have to carry the bag with him all day.

 _Smooth move, Barnes_ , he thought to himself. He wasn't too keen on going back to dump the bag in his car; he had read through a wearisome amount of research on the amount of theft from parked cars in Manhattan. So he was stuck carrying the bag around… Unless he dropped it off with Steve.

His steps slowed. Could he? James knew where Steve worked, although he'd never been to the man's office. Would it be rude to show up unannounced?

Someone bumped into James' side, knocking the bag into his leg. "Hey, watch it!" James said.

"Keep movin', it's a sidewalk!" the guy snarled, not breaking stride.

"Yeah, so's your mother," James muttered once the guy was out of earshot. Goddamned New York.

In the end, he washed up outside Stark Tower without having decided what he was going to do. It was only ten; he could go in and say hi and leave the bag with Steve for later. It wasn't really that big a deal.

James' phone buzzed with a text from Maria. _We still good to meet at one?_

_Sure_ , James replied. _y do I overthnk thngs??_

_bc you're human,_ Maria replied instantly. _This about steve?_

_who?_

_funny. Meet me at one and you can tell me everything._

James put his phone back into his pocket. No use standing around like he should have his cap out for spare change. Gripping the plastic bag tighter in his metal hand, James walked toward the entrance.

The door whooshed open at his approach, into a large and bustling lobby. A few security guards stood around. James took in their stance and demeanour by force of habit. Security personnel were always such a wild card in his business – alarms and cameras were fine on their own, but the human factor could make or break any security set-up.

As his brain categorized everything, he walked up to a wide counter labelled _Welcome_. "Hello," said a bright-eyed young man seated behind the desk. "Welcome to Stark Tower."

"Hey there," James said. "I'm here to see someone who works here, do I need to check in?"

"If you'll proceed to our directory screens," the young man said, gesturing at the far wall. He had dark eyes and looked a little like a young George Clooney. "You can find your way, and get assistance if your party is located in one of our secure areas."

"Thanks," James said, flashing the man a smile as he turned away. He'd been in the building before, of course, when he and Maria had met Steve for coffee, but then he'd gone directly up to the concourse.

Now, he approached the wall with its flat glossy screens. The screen in front of him had a helpful _start here_ button, so he pressed it.

The screen lit up. _Welcome to Stark Tower. Please type in the name of the individual or department you wish to visit_ appeared above a virtual keyboard.

James pressed in _S T_ , then stopped.

Here he was, standing in Tony Stark's office tower, wearing one of Tony Stark's prosthetic arms, and carrying with him the lingering uncertainty of having to give the limb back to Tony Stark. Too many questions hovered over him, and here he was, in the same building with the man who could provide all the answers.

James' finger drifted toward the _A_ key. He could just… No. No, he wasn't going to walk up to Tony Stark and say hey, want to take my arm away? He wanted to keep the arm so badly he could taste it, like copper pennies on the back of his tongue, like the dust from an Iraqi road.

But he didn't need it.

He wanted to keep the arm because it made his life easier, but he had proven to everyone that he was just as much of a man with one arm as he would had been with two, just as good a father, just as good a provider. Steve knew what he looked like with the arm off, what he could do, and still loved James. And the kids… hell, the kids couldn't care less about how many limbs James had, as long has he was around to give them snacks and enable their merry mischief.

James wasn't going to wait around for the axe to fall on him. He might not have control over a lot of things in his life, but he also wasn't going to run away from things. He wasn't a coward.

Firmly, James tapped the rest of Tony Stark's name into the search box.

The screen blinked. _Do you have an appointment?_

James pressed the little _no_ button, starting to feel like a total idiot.

_What is your name?_

James clenched his jaw as he tapped out, _James Barnes_.

The screen blinked and pulsed out, _One moment please._ James made himself stand still, shoulders straight, as the bustle and hum of the lobby went on behind him. The reflection in the monitors let him watch the people behind him while he waited, anonymous shapes behind his back.

After a minute, the screen changed. _Please proceed to Security Desk Seven_ , it read, and a map displayed the location.

James clenched his jaw. This was such a bad idea, but he'd walked right into it. He should have just dug up Steve and dropped off the book and left.

But now, walking deeper into the building.

He was such an idiot.

Security desk seven was at the back of the main floor, casually but firmly blocking access to a single elevator. James' step slowed as he approached. These security officers were dressed like those at the front of the building, but everything else was different. These men and women looked like they might actually be able to stop someone more determined than a confused chihuahua.

The man at the desk was eyeing James. "Yes?"

James' spine stiffened, just the way it had back in the Rangers when he was facing down an officer. "I'm here to see Tony Stark," he said, voice even and face blank.

"May I see some ID?" the security guard asked. With his manner, James suspected he was ex-military.

James pulled out his wallet. One-handed, James slipped out his driver's licence to hand over to the guard. The man took it, looked between it and James for a moment, then handed it back.

As James folded the wallet over the loose card to put into his pocket, the guard was pulling something off a small printer. "Here's your security pass," he said. "You'll need it to fob into the elevator."

James took the proffered item. It looked like paper and felt like plastic, and on the front was printed James' name and a series of numbers. It was nothing like the guest pass he'd gotten months before when he'd parked in the Stark Tower parking lot. "Thanks."

With that, James headed for the elevator, passing the three other guards. He itched to stop and stare at this set up, to figure out where Stark had his cameras, if there was some sort of embedded metal detector, but he suspected that such close attention would only piss off the guards.

The elevator doors opened as he approached. James stepped inside. The elevator had no buttons, only a small metal sensor with a gleaming red light.

 _This is such a stupid idea_ , James thought again, and waved his little plastic card at the sensor.

The light turned green, the elevator doors closed, and up they went.

Almost too soon, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. James stepped out into a silent foyer, bright with the morning sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hall.

A soft _ping_ caught James' attention. "Please proceed to your left," said a disembodied voice. "Mr. Stark is in his laboratory."

James looked around. There was no indication of a speaker or a camera. "Uh, thanks."

"It is my pleasure," said the voice.

Warily, James turned left.

About twenty feet down the white corridor was another hallway, this one with a glass door at the end. James spotted movement, so he went forward, all the time thinking to himself that if this was Stark's idea of a joke, it was pretty fucking weak.

At the end of the hall, the glass door showed a wide room, full of robotic bits and tools. At first glance, James couldn't see Tony Stark, but Bruce Banner was there, beckoning James inside. With one last _what the hell_ , James reached for the door handle.

As the door swung open, a blast of sound hit him. Some rock music, a whir of a power wrench, and an unidentified clanging enveloped James as he walked inside the room. Bruce was just standing up, pulling out his earplugs. "Hi," Bruce said as the door swung shut behind James. "Good to see you again."

James nodded. "Same here."

He was about to say something, try to find some excuse about why he was there, when the clanging stopped and what looked like a robot arm mounted on top of a roomba careened across the room. Tony Stark popped out from behind a cabinet to chase after the thing. "Get back here, I wasn't finished!"

The robot arm slammed into the wall and let out a betrayed _meep_.

"Yeah, next time wait until I've got your eyepiece synched back up." Tony spared a glance at James, his gaze sliding down to the prosthetic hand. "Selling door-to-door?"

"It's a gift for the kids," James said, wondering if he was being baited. "They started school on Tuesday, so I wanted to get them a few things."

"Steve's told us about Clint's new school," Bruce said, reaching over to tap at his keyboard. The volume of the music dropped to a whisper. "It sounds like a great environment."

"I think so," James said, keeping an eye on Tony as the man went after the robot with a screwdriver. "Clint seems really excited about the whole thing."

"Good." Bruce winced as the robot let out a protesting whine. "Tony, do you have to do that now?"

"I'm not letting this heap of rusty parts wander around the lab with faulty sensors," Tony said, fiddling with some wires. "He'll run into the gas storage cage and we'll all blow up." Tony sat back. "There, you little disaster. Go sit in the corner and think about what you've done."

The robot whirred and spun around before zipping off. Tony heaved himself to his feet, reaching for a rag slung over a work stool. He wasn't looking at James, but James wasn't sure if that was deliberate or not.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Bruce asked into the silence.

Here it was – the perfect opening. James took a breath to steady himself. "It's about the arm."

Tony's glaze swung back to the prosthetic arm. "What, you want an upgrade?"

"No." James made the metal fingers relax, letting the plastic book bag slip to the ground. He held up the hand. "I always knew that Stark Industries was behind the prosthetics project, but I didn't know that you were involved. Not until the party."

"How?" Tony's eyes snapped up to James' face, and the intensity of that gaze made the words stick momentarily in James' throat.

"The way you looked at it." James made a loose fist with the hand. "And me."

Tony stared at James for a moment longer, then he turned away, going to fidget with the tools on one of the workbenches. "Steve didn't tell me you had one of the arms," he said, shoving a socket wrench into a holder on the wall. "He said you had a prosthetic, but not that you'd had one of mine."

"Yeah, well, he didn't tell me you were involved either," James said. He lowered the arm; holding it up pulled at the straps around his ribs. "He said he knew how much privacy stuff there was around the project and he didn't want to complicate things, I guess."

"And here we are." Tony moved a heavy clamp along the workbench. "So what do you want?"

James wondered if he was imagining the defensive edge in Tony's voice. Maybe he was just projecting. "It's about all that privacy stuff," he said, then took another deep breath. This was it. No going back. "And if you're going to have to take the arm back because you know who I am."

Tony's hands stilled. For a heartbeat, the room was quiet. Then the robot arm puttered by, giving out little beeps, and Tony was moving again. "How much do you know about the anonymity of medical trials?" he asked.

"Tony," Bruce said quietly.

"Not a damned thing," James said. "But I read what the VA had me sign when I joined the trial, and there was enough legal jargon there to make me keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself. Wasn't like there was anyone I had to talk to, anyway."

Tony pulled over a small board, tangled with colourful wires. "This sort of small-scale trial, with these limbs, it's hard on privacy," he said. His fingers moved quickly over the wires. James wasn't sure if he was fixing the board or breaking it down. "If there were more participants with similar injury types, it'd be easier to anonymize everything." He reached for some wire cutters. "But the DoD only had enough money for four preliminary prototypes. And if SI had thrown in extra devices for free, the validity of the results would have taken a hit with the FDA. They're leery enough when it comes to medical robotics. We may as well be back in the dark ages, for how fast we're moving."

James glanced over at Bruce. "There's only one subject with a transhumeral amputation in the study," Bruce explained. "That means it's easier to connect the ongoing test results with…"

"Me," James finished for him. He breathed in and out a few times. Intellectually, he had known this going in, but hearing someone else say it made him feel a whole lot worse.

"Robotics is Tony's area of speciality," Bruce said. "With the advances in the project, we've both been involved in a lot of the development of the next generation of limbs, which at this point is mostly trying to figure out how to make them lighter, with a longer battery life."

James curled his arm up. "This one isn't too heavy," he said. "Not compared to the first bucket of bolts I got after I came home."

"So why isn't it working?" Tony's voice came from the workbench.

James raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

Tony turned around, a red-coated wire looped between his fingers. "Steve said you don't wear it all the time. Which, a massive privacy violation that could cancel the project, but anyway. Why?"

The full intensity of Tony's Stark's stare was a heavy thing, as was the confirmation that Steve talked about him to Tony. "It's not the arm," James said. "It's the pull on my ribs." He touched the spot on his chest where the under-arm harness strap lay. "It was okay when my kid was tiny, but she's forty-three pounds now. Pickin' her up starting to get a little painful." James held back a wince at the Brooklyn gloss he could hear in his voice. "Plus, the arm moves so good, sometimes I go a little overboard. Especially on job sites."

Tony hadn't blinked once while James was talking. Now, he looked down at his hands, frowned at the wire as if he'd forgotten why he was holding it, then flicked it over towards the robot arm. "Steve said you worked in security."

"Yeah?" James shifted his left foot, supressing the urge to fidget. "Ninety percent of that's residential and commercial. Anyone in that area who doesn't get their hands dirty in the construction isn't going to do the job you want them to."

"The guys I used when I built the tower weren't hands-on," said Tony.

A shadow of a smile tugged at James' lips. "You want me and my partner to give this place a shake-down? To see what those guys missed?"

Bruce let out a small huff of amusement, while Tony just blinked.

James leaned against a low workbench. "Anyway, it doesn't mean much," he said, looking down at his prosthetic. "I always knew that the trial with this thing was going to end sooner or later, once the Army got its ten bucks outta me."

"So you want to give it back?" There was an edge in Tony's voice.

James' shoulders went back. He wished he knew what Steve saw in this guy. "Not in the least," he said. "But I ain't going to let this be a thing. If I gotta turn it back in, then that's what that is."

"You're not going to fight for it?" Tony half-turned to rearrange the workbench.

James felt steel creep into his spine. It was almost funny, on reflection. The first time he'd met Tony Stark, James had wanted nothing more than to run away. Now, it seemed that he was spoiling for an argument.

"I know what things in my life I'm willing to fight for," James said, thinking back to his conversation with Steve the night before. "The arm ain't one of my top five, if you know what I'm saying."

But those things that James would fight for, were none of Stark's business.

"Besides," he said, letting a hint of resignation fall into his tone, "I spent eight years in the Army. I know better by now than to think that fighting the weight of the military bureaucracy would end in any kind of win for me."

Tony tapped out a tattoo on a power meter. "There's a first time for everything," he said absently. "Miracle on 42nd Street."

"Guys like me don't get miracles like that," James said with a shrug. "Look, I said what I came to say. I'll get out of your hair. Thanks for letting me barge in like this."

"So that's it," Tony said. "You come here and drop this on us and sail off?"

"I didn't drop anything," James retorted. "You know more about the project than I do. I thought you'd have some more answer than I do, maybe know who to talk about what has to happen next."

"Does Steve know you're here?" Tony asked abruptly.

Bruce moved in his chair. The motion was slight, but it was a reminder that Tony and James weren't alone.

"No," James said. "Because this," and he held up his metal hand, "Is between you and me and the Department of Defense, not Steve Rogers."

"And you know that's how he sees it?"

James breathed in through his nose. He wished he knew why Tony Stark, with all his billions and smarts, was acting so fucking prickly. "Me and Steve, that's us. He's not in this with me because I got some special arm."

Tony pushed the tangle of wires back on the workbench, his movements agitated.

James looked up to the ceiling. Coming here had been such a stupid idea.

But… James knew how much Tony meant to Steve. And James also knew he'd do anything for Steve. Even dealing with such stupid conversations with Tony Stark.

James exhaled. He might as well follow his own goddamned rule, and cowboy up.

"If I can't keep the arm for the rest of the trial, then I'd like to know," James said. "And if it has to happen, then it may as well happen now. No point in making it more of a big deal than it has to be."

He bent down to pick up the briefcase and the book bag.

"So you're going to leave this with me," Tony said as James straightened up. "Why? For all you know, I'm just some asshole."

"Look, Stark," James said, finally losing his patience. "I got no doubt that you're one hell of an asshole."

Bruce coughed.

"So'm I," James went on. "But for some reason, none of that matters to Steve. When he says to me that Tony Stark is a good guy, then that I believe."

Tony flipped a small clamp around before hanging it up on the wall. "Steve said that?"

"Yeah."

The small robot arm meeped as it rolled into a wall.

"Huh," Tony said, then picked up a voltmeter and walked away.

James turned to Bruce. "So I'm going to go."

Bruce, who appeared more amused than James would have expected, stood up. "Tony will get someone from the legal team to look at the contracts with the DoD," he said as they shook hands. "You really mean what you said about being okay with giving up the arm?"

James stepped back. "It's a prosthetic," he said. "I've had others. This one's great, but if it's gonna cause problems that I got it, then it's better for everyone that I cut the rope and move on to the next thing."

Bruce gave an inscrutable nod. "That's one way to look at it," he said.

With one last look after Tony, James left. Out in the sterile hall, he retraced his steps to the elevator.

This had been one of his more bone-headed ideas. He should leave, put as much distance between himself and this building, just get over to his meeting with Maria.

He didn't know how he was going to explain all this to Steve.

The elevator door opened, and James stepped inside. There was no down button, so he dug the little paper badge out of his pocket and waved it at the sensor. Nothing happened.

"Jesus Christ," James muttered under his breath. "How do I even get out of here?"

"Your pass has had additional access added to it since you last entered this elevator," came the disembodied voice. "Would you like to go to the lobby, or to level seven to Development and Fundraising?"

James briefly closed his eyes. It had probably been Tony or Bruce who had given him access to Steve's office. He hoped it was Bruce; he still had a lingering and petty desire to think of Tony Stark as an asshole.

Still. James took a deep breath. He wasn't going to run away from his problems… especially if one of those problems might take it into his head to go tell Steve his version of the story first.

"Level seven, please," James said.

"Of course," said the voice. The elevator began to descend. James tried to think of what he was going to say to Steve. _Told your friend Stark he was an asshole_ seemed like a bad place to start. Maybe, if he explained how much he hated dangling at the whim of the United States military, Steve would get it?

Probably not.

James closed his eyes for a moment. He was an idiot.

The elevator slowed to a stop. "If you will proceed along the left corridor until you reach room 728, then turn right, you will find Development and Fundraising," said the voice.

"Sure thing, pal." James waited as the doors slid soundlessly open. "Thanks for all your help."

"My pleasure, Mr. Barnes."

James walked left, counting the doors. These halls were decorated much differently than the lab upstairs; with warm colours and soft carpeting. As James passed a door marked 713, he spotted a large painting that looked vaguely familiar.

He stopped and stared at it. There was something about the strength of the lines sliding across the canvas, outlining a playground and some blobs that indicated children at play, that made him wonder. His eyes traveled down to the bottom right corner. "S. Rogers," James said to himself. "Huh."

"Can I help you?"

James turned around. A young woman was staring at him. "Yeah, I'm looking for Development and Fundraising," he said.

"Most people don't come this way," she said.

James held up his guest pass. "I was upstairs."

She stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then gestured down the hall with her head. "Big doors around the corner. Can't miss it."

James thanked her and headed off. He sure wasn't making any friends in Stark Tower, that was for sure.

Around the corner, James found the room he was looking for. He pulled the door open to step inside, not sure what to expect. But the inside of the office was a marked change from the outside halls. The walls were cluttered with posters and photographs. Whiteboards held cheery messages in all sorts of colors. Rambunctious green plants stood on every free surface.

It was just the sort of place James imagined Steve would work.

He let out a breath, feeling the tension of the last half-hour drain from his shoulders. Maybe it wasn't going to be quite so bad after all.

The front office was empty save for a young man perched on a desk, fiddling with a camera lens. He barely looked up as James entered, just kept squinting at the lens casing.

James looked around the office. "Is there a bell I gotta ring?"

"Beats me," said the young man. "I only come here for the free coffee."

"Peter!" yelled a very familiar voice from down the hall. The young man hastily shoved the lens back into a big bag. "The printers say the photos on page eighteen have the wrong aspect ratio!"

The young man, Peter, jumped to his feet. "No, they're not!" he shouted back. "The photos I gave your designer are perfect!"

"So what are we going to do about it?" Steve's voice was growing closer, but he was still out of sight.

"You can hire a new layout artist!"

"No time! Why do I have to do everything my goddamned self?" And with that, Steve came around the corner. He saw James, and nearly walked into a desk. "Bucky?"

"Hi," James said, almost forgetting how nervous he was as he watched Steve's face light up.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, hurrying across the office. The way he was smiling made it hard for James to breathe.

"I, uh." James held up the book bag. "Got some stuff for the kids and wondered if I could leave it with you?"

"Yeah, of course." Steve stopped by James' side, his hand going up to touch James' arm. In spite of their audience, James wanted to lean into Steve, to tell him what happened, to hear Steve say it was going to be all right. "You don't need a reason to come by when you're in Manhattan."

A pointed cough sounded behind Steve. "You want me to go?" asked Peter.

Steve, whose back was to the young man, rolled his eyes at James. "No, I want you to dig up the original files so I can get them into the program," he said as he turned around. "Bucky, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Peter Parker, he does freelance photography for our events."

"Nice to meet ya," Peter said cheerily, holding out his hand. "You must be the guy Steve won't shut up about."

"He won't, huh." James gave Steve a slight glare as he shook Peter's hand. Steve had the grace to blush an intriguing shade of pink. "That's fine, I think he's kinda okay."

Peter let out a laugh. "Good to meet you. Captain, can I use Angelica's computer?"

Steve's cheeks were going increasingly redder. "Sure," he said as he put his hand on James' back. "Come on, Bucky, let's leave him to it. Come see my office."

James let himself be guided deeper into the offices. "Captain?" he asked.

Steve refused to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Why did Peter call you captain?"

"It's a stupid nickname," Steve grumbled. "Something that came up after one of our fundraising events. I pulled out a last-minute save, and Jono said they oughta call me the captain or something."

"But like, what kind of captain?" James pressed. "Captain Kirk? Captain Hook?" He grinned. "Captain Crunch?"

Steve poked James in the kidney.

"You'd look good in one of those pirate hats," James went on, letting Steve push him into a small office. The window opened up onto a view down 44th Street. "Damn, you work here?"

"I try to." Steve closed the door behind him, shutting out the outside world. "You look really good."

James turned. "What are you talking about?" he asked as he put the book bag and his briefcase down onto a chair. "You saw me a few hours ago."

"I know." Steve crossed the small space between them to put his arms around James. In spite of his worries, James melted in against Steve. "And you look really good."

James leaned forward just enough to press a soft kiss against Steve's lips. "You're not so bad looking yourself."

"Mmm." Steve leaned in for a kiss of his own. This occupied the next few minutes. When they finally broke apart, he whispered, "Okay, why are you really here?"

James pressed his forehead against Steve's neck. "Droppin' off a book ain't a good enough reason?"

"For anyone else, yeah." Steve's hand played up and down James' back. "Maybe I know you a little too well."

James made a noise against Steve's skin.

"Also, I didn't get a phone call that you were coming up," Steve went on. "So's I know it wasn't me you came here to see."

James sighed. Every time he turned around in this place, he was getting himself into more trouble. "It ain't really like that," he said as he pulled away from Steve. "I mean, I really did come here to drop off the books."

Steve brushed the hair back from James' forehead.

"It's just…" James shook his head. "You know how I got some cracker-jack ideas sometimes."

"Yeah."

James gently disentangled himself from Steve's embrace. "So maybe I was downstairs and I got this great idea that I should go see Stark and ask him about the arm," he said.

A small frown came over Steve's face. "What did you want to ask him?"

James moved behind the desk to sit down in Steve's chair. There was a small framed photo of the four of them, taken up at the beach house on vacation. "If I gotta give the arm back because he knows who I am now," James said to the photograph. He picked it up, traced his thumbnail over the glass. They had all looked so _happy_.

"And what did Tony say?" Steve's voice was sharp.

"Said he didn't know." James put the photo down. "Said he'd look into it. He also said he thought I'da fight for the arm or something." He looked up at Steve. "Maybe I had one of those moments of, whatcha call it. Clarity."

"On what?" Steve's gaze was steady on James' face, and it gave James the strength he hadn't realized he needed for this conversation.

James held up the metal hand, turning it so the plates caught the sunlight coming in through the windows. "When I got this, I thought it was going to make me a better person, you know?" He made a fist. "A better dad for Nat, shit like that." He opened the hand again. "And when you told me that Stark made it, I started freaking out. It just made everything easier, you know?"

"Yeah." Steve moved the book bag and James' briefcase to the floor, and sat across the desk from James. "Bucky, I—"

"Lemme finish," James said. Steve lapsed into silence. "It does make shit easier. But it ain't me. I've had other prosthetics, I can go back to using them. Natasha doesn't need me to have this to be a good enough dad to her. And maybe…" He stopped for a moment. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed. "And maybe I had this idea that I needed it to be good enough for you."

Steve surged forward. "Bucky, you don't!" he exclaimed.

"I know that." James reached out with his right hand. Steve took it, twined their fingers together. "I know that. I think it just took me a while to really figure that out."

Steve squeezed James' hand. "If you ever want to talk about anything, let me know," he said. "I don't always know what to say, but I'll try."

"Thanks." James' heart was pounding in his chest, but relief was coursing through his veins, making him weak. "Like I said last night. I'm with you, Steve."

"And I'm with you, Bucky."

A tapping on the door pulled them both up. Steve squeezed James' hand once more, then stood to open the door. It was Peter. "Hey, I dug out the original photos and dumped them into the program workspace," he said. "You need me to do anything else? I got a text about a street festival up in the Bronx, sounds like a good Instagram story."

"Thanks, I got it," Steve said. "See you next week."

Peter saluted. "Sure thing." He looked past Steve. "And nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes."

"James," James called after Peter's retreating back. "He's a punk. How old is that kid?"

"He's twenty-four," Steve said. "Get out of my chair. Can you stay for lunch?"

"I got to meet Maria at one," James said as he got up. He crowded past Steve with more physical contact than was necessary. "You leaving soon?"

"No, sounds like I'll be here for a bit." Steve started typing on his computer. "Can you hang around?"

"Sure." James dropped into the chair Steve had just vacated. "I'm always up for watching you do all the hard work for a change."

Steve kicked at James under the desk.

Once he had pulled his feet to safety, James sat back to look around the rest of the small office. Artwork he recognized as Clint's decorated one wall. A bunch of books and folders were stacked horizontally on a bookshelf. And on top of the bookcase…

"Is that the Frederick the Blue Dog toy Clint got over the summer?" James asked.

Steve didn't look up. "Yeah, Clint wanted to make sure I wasn't lonely at work when he was home with Skye all summer."

James let his head rest against the back of the chair. "You sure got a good kid."

"Yeah." Steve smiled. "He's pretty good."

James pulled out his phone. "The school day's half over, and no calls from Ms. Green. Maybe the kids are going to hang in there for the whole day without any escape attempts or derring-do."

"I sure as hell hope so."

James put his phone away. "So, uh, another thing."

Steve stopped typing.

"Just thought I might mention it. In case it comes up."

Steve waited.

"I might have called Stark an asshole."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He started it."

"Bucky."

"Hey, I'm just telling you in case he mentions it."

"God, you're a pain in the ass," Steve muttered.

James raised his eyebrows. "I thought you liked that about me."

Steve shook his head. "I have to finish this print file," he said. "You insult anyone else on the way into the tower today?"

James settled back in his chair. "Nearly got run over by some asshole on the sidewalk," he began. "People in this city, I swear to god, Steve, everyone's walkin' around, looking at their phones. How the hell half this city doesn't die every day is a never-ending surprise."

And so James talked, Steve typed, and little by little, the lingering tension in James' bones dripped away. Sure, James might have messed up with Tony Stark, but it wasn't like he was ever going to make friends with the man. At least he'd taken a stand. Whatever came out of the legal mess with the medical trials, James knew now what he was going to do.

If he had to hand in the arm, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lost something that made his life easier, and it wouldn't be the last.

But he had to focus on the things he did have. He had his job, and he and Maria were doing really well. He had the house, a safe place to raise Natasha. And he had Natasha, who was growing up strong and healthy and smart.

Now, he and Natasha had Steve and Clint in their lives.

And the four of them, that was what mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that so far in this story, we’ve seen that Bucky doesn’t exactly like Tony Stark because a) jealousy. 
> 
> Next up – the kids find out about Steve and Bucky! And it isn’t all great!
> 
> Adding in another chapter to the chapter total because I can never shut up. See you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/) for shenanigans in the meantime.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blue Blossom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920328) by [grettama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grettama/pseuds/grettama)




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